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Series 
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microfiches 
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Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproducttons  /  Institut  Canadian  da  microreproductions  historiques 


■  I'lil'iMMIIIIilllillllH  Hill  I |i|  I  riilllllitflilllliilllill  I  r  llUllil inHH         liMilM       Hill  lllllliilllllllllillllliiHIIIil 


^.-i 


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The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best  original 
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Cover  title  missing  /  Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

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possible,  ces  pages  n'ont  pas  6t6  film^es. 

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de  normale  de  filmage  sont  indiqu6s  ci-dessous. 

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n 


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D 


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Ce  document  est  fllmi  au  taux  de  rMuctlon  IndiqtM  ei-destous. 


lOx 

14x 

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-  r. 


'«^'Vv'K" 


'V.- 


Tha  copy  film«d  h«r«  h««  baan  raproducad  thanks 
to  tha  ganaroaity  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'axamplaira  film*  fut  raproduit  graca  A  la 
g*n*roait*  da: 

Bibliotheque  nationale  du  Canada 


Tha  imagaa  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  baat  quality 
poaaibia  conaidaring  tha  condition  and  lagibility 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  spacificatiena. 


Las  imagas  suivantas  ont  *tA  raproduitas  avac  la 
plua  grand  soin,  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattati  da  l'axamplaira  filma.  at  an 
conformity  avac  laa  condition*  du  contrat  da 
filmaga. 


Original  copiaa  in  printad  papar  covara  ara  filmad 
baginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  en 
tha  last  paga  with  a  printad  or  illuatratad  impraa- 
sion.  or  tha  back  covar  whan  appropriata.  All 
othar  original  copiaa  ara  filmad  baginning  on  tha 
firat  paga  with  a  printad  or  illuatratad  impraa- 
tipn.  and  anding  on  tha  last  paga  with  a  printad 
or  illuatratad  imprassion. 


Tha  laat  racordad  frama  on  aach  microficha 
shall  contain  tha  symbol  -^  (moaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  tha  symbol  V  (moaning  "END"). 
whichovar  appliaa. 

Mapa,  plataa,  charts,  ate,  may  ba  filmad  at 
diffarant  raduction  ratios.  Thosa  too  larga  to  ba 
antiraly  includad  in  ona  axposura  ara  filmad 
baginning  in  tha  uppar  laft  hand  cornar.  laft  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  framas  as 
raquirad.  Tha  following  diagrama  illustrata  tha 
mathod: 


Laa  axamplairaa  originaux  dont  la  couvartura  an 
papiar  aat  imprimia  sont  filmAs  an  commancant 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  »n  tarminant  soit  par  la 
darni*ra  paga  qui  compona  una  amprainta 
d'imprassion  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  la  sacond 
plat,  salon  la  caa.  Tous  laa  autras  axamplairas 
originaux  sont  filmte  an  commandant  par  la 
pramiAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  an*  jrainta 
d'impraaaion  ou  d'illuatration  at  an  ^arminant  par 
la  darniAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  talla 
amprainta. 

Un  das  symbolas  suivanta  apparaitra  sur  la 
darniAra  imaga  da  chaqua  microficha.  salon  la 
cas:  la  symbola  — ^signifia  "A  SUIVRE ',  la 
symboia  V  signifia  "FIN". 

Laa  cartaa,  planchaa.  tablaaux.  ate.  pauvant  atra 
filmAs  A  daa  taux  da  reduction  diffirants. 
Lorsqua  la  documant  aat  trop  grand  pour  atra 
raproduit  an  un  saul  clich*.  il  ast  fumS  i  partir 
da  I'angla  supAriaur  gaucha,  da  gaucha  A  droita, 
at  da  haut  an  baa.  an  pranant  la  nombra 
d'imagaa  nicaaaaira.  Laa  diagrammaa  suivants 
illuatrant  la  mAthoda. 


..i^^^-imF^^^s^t^^ima  wp^i 


: i^iiamim^.:-\^\¥i^ •  '•/ismsmK " iT  niri-nm-UMi— ni"iif'niiTiWTTTi-^iini 


^^f^ 


MICROCOPY   RESOIUTWN   TEST  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


1^ 

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1.8 


^     APPLIED  IfVHGE 


'653   East    Wain   Street 

Rocliester,    Ne«    York         14609       USA 

(716)    482  -  0300  -  Phone 

(716)    288  -  5989  -  Fa. 


DAUGHTERS  OF  DAWN 


>^.: 


DAUGHTERS  OF  DAWN 

A  LYRICAL  PAGEANT 

OR  SERIES  OF  HISTORIC  SCENES 

FOR  PRESENTATION  mm 

MUSIC  AND  DANCING 

BY 

BLISS  CARMAN  AND 
MARY  PERRY  KING 

WITH  FIFTEEN  ILLUSTRATIONS 


^'What  cannot  be  said  can  be  sung, 
IVhat  cannot  be  sung  can  be  danced" 


NEWYORK 
MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 

1913 


f\  /:  X'  ^• 


•  ^f^ 


r  r  '  t 


fi^iJS 


Copyright  11)13  by 
Mitchell  KennerUy 


The  dramatic  rights  for  acting  and 
reading  of  DaughUrs  of  Dawn,  to- 
gether with  its  music,  stage  directions 
and  costur.e  specif  cations  for  acting  and 
for  reading,  illustrated  by  tableaux 
vivants,  may  be  had  of  the  authors. 
There  are  also  lantern-slide  illustra- 
tions that  may  be  used  together  with 
music  to  accompany  readings  from  the 
Pageant. 


Prtss  of  y.  J.  Little  &  Ives  Cor    any 

East  Twenty-fourth  Utree. 

New  Tork 


TO   UF.NRIF.TTy1   HO^Er 

ff'nu   IIOMMCK   AND   .IfFECTtON 

IN  HAk'Pr  APl'RFCl,l'/ON  OF  HER   :    RyiCB 

TO    THE   CAUSE   OF  ART 


INTRODUCTION 

IN  rereading  one  of  Edward  Carpenter's 
wise  books  the  other  day  I  came  upon 
the  following  suggestive  passages,  which 
express  very  well  the  thought  underlying  the 
Daughters  of  Dawn: 

"Far  back  out  of  the  brows  of  Greek 
goddess,  and  Sibyl,  and  Norse  and  Ger- 
man seeress  and  prophetess,  over  all  this 
petty  civilization  look  the  grand  untamed 
eyes  of  a  primal  woman  the  equal  and  the 
mate  of  man;  and  in  sad  plight  should  we 
be  if  we  might  not  already,  lighting  up 
the   horizon   from   East  and   West   and 
South  and  North,  discern  the  answering 
looks  of  those  newcomers  who,  as  the  pe- 
riod of  women's  enslavement  is  passing 
away,  send  glances  of  recognition  across 
the  ages  to  their  elder  sisters." 

'The  Greek  goddesses  look  down  and 
across  the  ages  to  the  very  outposts 
beyond  civilization;  and  already  from 
America,    Australasia,    Africa,    Norway, 


VI 


INTRODUCTION 


Russia,  as  even  in  our  midst  from  those 
who  have  crossed  the  border-line  of  all 
class  and  caste,  glance  forth  the  features 
of  a  grander  type — fearless  and  untamed 
— the  primal  merging  into  the  future 
Woman;  who  *  *  *  will  help  us  to 
undo  the  bonds  of  death  which  encircle 
the  present  society,  and  open  the  doors  to 
a  new  and  a  wider  life." 


Daughters  of  Dawn,  literally  written  in 
collaboration,  was  originally  planned  by  Mrs. 
King  to  serve  as  a  series  of  studies  in  her 
new  educational  movement,  in  which  the  three 
rhythmic  arts,  poetry,  music,  and  dancing,  or 
interpretive  motion,  are  combined  for  artistic 
and  cultural  purposes.  Even  if  I  had  origi- 
nated such  a  work  and  been  rash  enough  to 
begin  it  alone,  I  could  not  unaided  have  given 
it  anything  like  its  present  effectiveness,  verac- 
ity, and  conciseness,  nor  many  of  the  beauties 
of  thought  and  expression  which  I  am  glad  to 
think  it  possesses.  As  there  appeared  to  be 
no  more  appropriate  name  for  dances  or  small 
motion  dramas  of  this  sort,  in  which  the  in- 
terpretation of  the  spoken  verse  is  furthered 


INTRODUCTION 


Vll 


simultaneously  by  adapted  music  and  rhythmic 
motion  which  may  or  may  not  include  dancing, 
we  have  been  calling  them  Rhythmics. 

Of  the  great  company  of  illustrious  women 
of  the  ages,  many  others  might  also  have  been 
chosen  for  such  a  work.  These  Daughters  of 
Dawn  were  selected  as  typical  chiefly  of  the 
liberal  and  beneficent  power  of  woman's  na- 
ture in  her  leadership  and  ascendancy  in  the 
life  of  the  spirit  and  the  destiny  of  the  world. 
Selection  was  made  of  episodes  lyrical  rather 
than  dramatic  in  feeling  and  significance,  as 
most  readily  lending  themselves  to  lyric  treat- 
ment in  verse,  music,  and  motion. 

Our  best  thanks  are  due  to  friends  for  gen- 
erous aid  in  creating  the  various  roles— to 
Miss  Irmgard  von  Rottenthal  for  her  poetic 
study  of  Eve,  to  Miss  Hedwig  Reicher  for  her 
masterly  studies  of  Deborah  and  Balkis,  to 
Miss  Mirzah  Cheslir  for  her  studies  of  Sappho 
and  a  truly  wonderful  Mary,  to  Miss  Ray 
Cohen  for  her  exquisite  interpretation  of  Izeyl, 
to  Mrs.  Bayard  Redficid  for  her  fine  concep- 
tion of  Zenobia,  to  Miss  Dorothy  Dean  for 
her  most  adequate  Jeanne  d'Arc,  and  to  Miss 


vm 


INTRODUCTION 


Gertrude  Lynch  for  her  very  gracious  ren- 
dering of  Vittoria  Colonna.  Our  grateful  ac- 
knowledgments belong  also  to  Mr.  B.  J.  F  Ik, 
who  brought  the  interest  of  an  old  friend  and 
the  painstaking  skill  of  an  artist  to  the  making 
of  the  photographic  studies  from  which  the  il- 
lustrations are  taken. 

The  writing  of  the  various  scenes,  prologues, 
and  choruses,  and  the  selection  and  arrange- 
ment of  the  costumes,  involved  painstaking  to 
insure  their  historic  accuracy  and  consistency, 
so  far  as  might  be.  In  the  different  meters 
used  in  the  dialogues  an  attempt  has  been  made 
to  secure  in  each  case  a  verse  form  expression- 
ally  appropriate  to  the  scene.  These  are  but 
working  considerations,  but  they  may  prove  of 
service  to  students  who  may  wish  to  use  the 
Pageant  at  any  time. 

B.   C. 

New  Canaan,  Connecticut, 
October,  19 1 2. 


OPENING  PROLOGUE 

AND 

CHORTTS 


PERSONS  IN  THE  PROLOGUES  AND  CHORUSES 

I'iME 

A  Poet 


^ 


nAUGIITKRS   OF   DAWN 

DAUGHTERS  OF  DAWN 

yis  the  curtain  rises  on  a  front  scene  Time 
^^>d  A  Poet  enter  from  the  left.  Time  ,,alks 
a  lUlle  tn  advance  of  his  companion  and  mov- 
tng  toivard  the  centre  of  the  stage  delivers  the 
prologue. 


OpexVing  Prologue 

In    the    crystal    sphere    of    time    that    swings 

through  space 
All  loveliness  survives.     Each  ardent  grace, 
Joyance,  and  noble  passion,  leaves  its  trace 
Imperishable  there. 

And  he  who  gazes  In  that  magic  glass 
May  see  the  pageant  of  the  ages  pass, 
V.vid  and  glad  ^.d  glorious  as  It  was, 
In  Its  great  hours  of  flare. 

In  scarlet  tatters  and  in  webs  of  gold, 
Heroic  ecstasies  and  dramas  old, 
Their  core  of  wisdom  and  high  glamour  hold, 
lo  bid  men  choose  and  dare. 


"I 


-^i'S'-r^'i 


DAUGHTERS   OF   DAWN 


frith  the  conclusion  of  his  speech,  Time 
passes  on  across  the  stage  to  exit  at  the  right. 
Music  at  once  takes  up  the  theme  of  the  pro- 
logue and  leads  ittto  the  theme  of  the  Ij  ic 
chorus.  As  it  ceases,  the  chorus  follows, 
spoken  by  the  Poet,  who  does  not  move  far 
from  his  place  of  entrance. 

OpiiNiNG  Chorus 

Who  are  these  who  pass  by 
With  victorious  mien, 
Deathless  light  in  the  eye, 
Fadeless  glory  and  sheen 
In  their  mystical   beauty  and  bearing;,  their 
power  to  bless  or  to  ban? 

These  are  they  who  aspired 
And  were  wise  in  their  day, 
Daring  all  they  desired 
Through  din  and  dismay. 
To  foster  the  hope  and  the  vision, — their  share 
in  the  infinite  plan. 

They  dreamed  and  endured 
To  bring  gladness  to  birth, 


wd^m'^m^. 


Mjatniaui  £r«^^>miir 


DAUviHTLKS   OF   DAWN 


That  joy  might  be  lured 
From  the  sorrow  of  earth, 
For  the  making  of  ever  new  Edens,  to  perfect 
what  creation  began. 

They  cherished  the  spark; 
They  protected  the  flame 
From  the  winds  and  the  dark; 
To  them  the  word  came; 
Their  bodies  were  altars  of  love,  and  their 
faith  was  the  rapture  of  man. 

Whether  beauty  and  truth 
Were  the  stars  of  their  power, 
Or  the  ardor  of  youth, 
Or  the  pride  of  the  hour, 
They  broidered   the   banners   they    followed, 
while  the  sands  of  the  hour-glass  ran. 

So  from  age  unto  age 
Their  beauty  shall  glow, 
To  brighten  the  page 
Of  earth's  warfare  and  woe. 
As  the  stars  in  the  arches  of  heaven  illumine 
the  darkness  they  span. 


5«WA.''rs»i»-EV 


DAUGHTERS  OF   D.\\V>f 

.//  the  conclusion  of  this  chorus  the  Wn.v 
retires,  and  music  follows  with  a  glorifica- 
tion of  I'e  general  thenvr  of  the  Pageant. 

The  same  procedure  is  followed  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  various  scenes,  Timk  speaking 
the  prologues,  and  the  Poet  reciting  .he  lyric 
choruses,— Kith  only  this  difference,  that  at  the 
close  of  each  chorus  the  curtain  rises  immedi- 
ately, disclosing  a  realization  of  the  Poet's  vi- 
sion, while  the  speaker  makes  his  exit  with  eyes 
on  the  scene  or  remains  half-concealed  near 
his  place  of  entrance,  as  an  onlooker. 


'■■:-i. 


^,^^^m:mmy^T:i 


m 


I 

EVE 


\'\ 


PERSONS   IN   THE   SCENE 

Eve 
Adam 


'^^^ 


m 


mm 


Z-'^d  -*3I 


EVE 


DAUGHTERS   OF   DAV/NT 


EVE 

Prologue 

Lone  In  the  strangeness  of  a  dim  new  world 
Untutored,  unbcfriendcd,  alien,  man 
Moved  to  his  destiny  of  perilous  power 
Between  his  ecstasies  of  hope  and  fear. 
And  wonder  was  upon  him,  and  desire. 

His  strength  was  spent  on  rock  and  tree  in 
vain ; 

His  running  reached  no  goal  but  loneliness; 
Silent  derision  waited  on  his  toil; 
And  ever  the  world-sorrow  bore  him  down, 
His  great  heart  beaten  by  futility. 

Then  on  a  morning  after  monstrous  storm, 
A  spirit  whispered  through   the  great  dumb 
blue, 

And  there  emerged  among  the  gentle  hills, 
Loving,  humane,  mysterious,  the  form 
Of  beauty  made  in  h'keness  of  his  dream. 


Music 


lO 


DAUGHTERS   OF   DAWN 


Chorus 

Who  Is  this  ardor-paled 
O'er  her  blood's  coral  stain, 
v^eiled  as  mountains  are  veiled 
In  a  mist  of  blue  rain? 
She  is  fair  as  the  great  winter  moonlight,  and 
frail  as  Aprilian  flowers. 

In  her  eyes  there  are  gleams 
Of  the  sun  and  the  sea. 
And  unfathomed  dreams 
Of  the  ages  to  be ; 
Her  beauty  and  wind-shod  exulting  take  little 
account  of  the  hours. 

She  moves  like  the  drifts 
Of  fog  on  the  tide, 
Or  the  faint  smoke  that  lifts 
From  the  purple  1    Iside; 
And  men  at  her  beauty  shall  wonder,  while 
wonder  and  beauty  abide. 


She  fears  not  the  portal 
Of  life  nor  of  death; 


DAUGHTERS   OF   DAWN 


II 


3 


She  is  tender  and  mortal 
And  subtle  as  breath; 
And  her  voice  is  the  call  of  the  ages  that  quick- 
ens this  substance  of  ours. 

Her  love  is  a  thing 
Without  hate  or  regret, 
Yet  in  twiHo-Jus  of  spring 
Will  her  eyelids  be  wet 
With  st     ige  immemorial  sorrow.     She  is  Eve 
of  tne  mystical  powers. 

A  wooded  glade  in  Paradise.  A  running 
stream  through  a  meadow.  The  sea  line  in  the 
distance.  Birds,  butterflies,  flowers,  and  crea- 
tures. Morning  sunlight.  Eve  appears  among 
the  trees,  and  accompanies  her  soliloquy  with 
primitive  expressive  motion.  At  its  close  Adam 
ts  seen  through  the  trees,  and  speaks. 

Eve 
Dear  life  I    Earth  and  sun  and  sea-line! 
Shadowy    .oods  and  shining  river! 
Flowers  and  meadows  fresh  with  morning, 
Calhng  birds  that  sway  and  flutter. 
Soaring  glad  and  free! 


^Ai 


12 


DAUGHTERS  OF  DAWN 


• 


What  Is  all  this  wonder  round  me, 
VV^ih  its  ravishing  enchantment? 
The  leaves  whisper;  the  grey  water 
Murmurs  to  the  blue  day;  all  things 
Promise  more  and  more. 

And  this  mist  of  gold  about  me? 

Running    and    seeing    her    reflection    in    the 

stream 
I  am  swift  .  .  .  and  light  ...  and  comely. 
Like  the  birds,  T  call.    Come,  wander 
Like  the  creatures  I    What  am  I,  and 

What  are  these  to  me? 

Lovely  sun,  shine  warm  upon  me  I 
Unseen  wind,  come  and  caress  me ! 
Good  earth,  kiss  my  feet  and  take  me 
On  long  journeys,  day  and  night-time, 
Gladly  everywhere. 

Nothing  answers  to  my  calling! 
Nothing  solaces  my  longing! 
Why  are  all  things  unresponding? 
Why  is  all  my  being  lonely? 
Is  this  Paradise? 


-3 


S 


Through  the  shadows  there's  a  shadow 
Coming.    Through  the  trees  I  sec  him 
L.ke  rre  .  .  .  stronger!     Ah,  his  presence  ' 
Makes  me  gladder,  gladder,  gladder 
What  am  I  to  thee  ? 

Adam 
Have  I  not  imaged  thy  face 
Out  of  the  sunrise  and  dreams? 
i   ave  I  not  sought  thy  trace, 
Through  the  spring  woods  and  streams? 
The  print  in  the  vanishing  dew, 
The  call  that  died  on  the  air, 
Lured  me  ever  anew. 
But  never  thyself  was  there. 
I  stretched  forth  hands  to  the  sun, 
I  breathed  my  prayer  through  thl  rain 
I  called  to  the  clouds  that  run; 
They  answered  me  not  again. ' 
I  have  heard  at  the  world's  far  edge 
The  great  winds  boom  and  moan; 
I  have  harked  to  the  whispering  sedge- 
But  they  spoke  in  a  tongue  unknown.  ' 
And  ever  the  throbbing  ache 
Beat  in  my  throat  and  side,— 


I 


H 


14 


DAUGHTERS  OF   DAWN 


The  hunger  I  could  not  slake, 
The  craving  that  would  not  bide; 
And  ever  the  gleaming  choice 
Drew  me  forth  on  the  trail, 
Where  never  a  kindred  voice 
Answered  my  desolate  hail. 

Thy  glistening  bosom  swells 

In  the  light  of  thy  wondrous  hair, 

Like  a  sunlit  hilltop  that  tells 

The  watcher  day  is  there. 

The  croon  of  thy  voice  like  the  wind, 

The  sway  of  thy  body  like  fire. 

The  glory  of  m.in  shall  bind 

To  the  soul  of  thy  desire. 

Here  let  the  sun  stand  still. 
The  wandering  stream  be  stayed, 
The  shadow  rest  on  the  hill. 
The  wind  play  low  in  the  glade  I 
For  I  have  found  Paradise, 
And  dread  has  lost  its  power. 
Here  let  the  great  moon  rise 
On  an  enchanted  hour! 

Curtain  and  Music 


ll 


II 

DEBORAH 
Tivelfth  Century  B.  C. 


PERSONS   IN   THE    SCENE 

Deborah 

Barak 

Captains  and  Chief  Men  of  Israel 


'r  'I: 


I 
I 


"AND  GOD  SAID,   M   HAVF.   SEEN  THE 
OPPRESSION'" 


f 


^   s 


nAirfiMTKRs  OF  nwvy 


DEBORAH 

Pro LOG UK 

The  ages  pass,  and  with  enormous  wars 
Sorrows  and  triumphs  and  enduring  toil, 
The  earth-child  Man  puts  off  his  savagery, 
And  w.th  the  growing  wisdom  of  the  earth 
Learns  law  and  artistry  and  paths  to  power. 

He  builds  in  Egypt  mammoth  pyramids; 
in  Bnbylon  his  gilded  temples  rise- 
T.ll   strength  and  beauty   fill  his 'heart  with 
pride. 

Then  eomes  a  nomad  people  with  their  tents 
Dreamers  and  wanderers  with  flocks  and  herds. 

Captive,  oppressed,  arrogant  and  unsubdued, 
Forever  cherishing  their  racial  dream 
Out  of  the  desert,  seeking  pasturage, 
To  the  rich  valleys  of  the  West  they  come,- 
The  tnbes  of  Israel  to  their  promised  land. 

Music 


i8 


DAirniiTF.Rs  or  pawn 


Chorus 

What  prophetess  stands, 
With  God's  fire  in  her  eyes 
A  d  His  love  in  her  hands, 
As  she  signals  and  cries 
The  word  that  shall   summon  her  people  to 
turn  back  a  tyrannous  might? 

In  beauty  austere. 
With  her  hood  half  withdrawn, 
She  is  straight  as  a  spear, 
Or  a  shaft  of  the  dawn, 
When   it  flushes  the  cedars  of  Kedron,   and 
floods  the  dark  valleys  with  light. 

Her  voice  has  the  spell 
Of  the  wind  and  the  rain. 
She  sways  with  the  swell 
Of  the  ripe-breasted  grain, 
When  summer  is  red  in  the  valleys  and  his 
fervors  are  fierce  on  the  plain. 

To  the  South  and  the  North, 
Fleet  runners  light-shod 


-1 
I 


•a 


f 


At  her  bidding  wcnf  f(,rth 
With  the  war-cry  of  God 
That  should  kindle  the  hearts  of  the  tribes  as 
a  watch./,rc  kindles  the  night. 

Let  princes  give  heed 

And  their  kingdoms  make  way, 

When  a  woman  at  need 

Goes  down  to  the  fray ' 

For  Deborah   rousing  a  nation,  the  God  of  her 
fathers  will  fight. 

Outside   the   tent   of   Doorah   in   Mount 
hphram  betueen  Ramah  and  Bethel.     A  r 

hii/c  ^  ^     -      ^''''^'■'^  f^'tts  aud  distant 

h^ls  are  seen.     ^^^^^M^  stands  under  a  paint 

:;y;;    --f^l^r  door  ;hef  ore  her,  ehjnl 
jrom  Kedesh-Naphtali  in  the  North. 

Deborah 
O  captains  and  chiefs  of  Zebulon, 
Andrulersof  Naphtali,  hear! 
And  Barak  son  of  Abinoam, 
Thou  warrior-leader,  draw  near f 


m^^^msm^m!m^^[Mm:^7^rmmmmm' 


1"*,,^ 
■-♦% 


20 


DAUGHTERS   OF   DAWN 


i' 


What  the  Lord  God  of  Israel  speaketh 
By  the  palm  tree  in  Ramah  this  day, 
By  the  mouth  of  Deborah  His  servant, 
Ye  shall  hearken  unto  and  obey. 

For  the  voice  of  the  Lord  in  the  morning, 
Before  the  first  sun  took  the  dew 
From  the  valleys  and  ridges  of  Hermon, — 
While    the    peaks    of   the    East    were    still 

blue, — 
Came  to  me,  as  I  stood  in  the  tent-door 
Thinking  on  Israel's  wrong. 
And  God  said,  "I  have  seen  the  oppression, 
But  behold,  it  shall  not  be  for  long. 

"Send  thou  to  Kedesh  for  Barak, 

And  bid  him  unsheath  the  sword 

Against  the  outrage  of  Jabin, 

And  I  will  prosper  my  word." 

Who  halted  the  sun  over  Gibeon, 

The  moon  above  Ajalon's  plain? 

Who  strengthened  the  ox-goad  of  Shamgar, 

By  whom  the  six  hundred  were  slain? 

So  shall  ye  prevail  against  evil. 
Their  chariots  of  iron  shall  flee. 


LJ.\L'    .'*,. 


<M'-  *-'*. 


•IM. 


mm^ 


M     'i^^'X 


^*^' 


LiT'  ••  '  '••"  *  ','- 


■■^y-. 


i^i 


t^i 


[■rtJ 


i''' M'\-Mim^^ 


DEBORAH 


I 


1  --w-'l^A?:  -■■:.  .JrittiShr;"^'? 


'Ci^ 


f»l 


s 


•■J 
I 


^UGHTERS   OF   DAWm 

The  floods  shall  brea.  .hen.  in  pieces 
And  roll  them  into  the  sea 

The  Wneyards  and  fields  of  these  Gentiles 
f-^^^^^-^M  unto  your  Hn^,, 

^'7,^'^,^^^"  '"  ^h->  courses  shall  aid  you 
And  dehver  then,  into  your  hands.         ' 

Go,  get  you  up  to  the  mountains, 

^,7;"  .!f  °"^^"^  ^«"ow  your  feet. 

And  Iwdl  make  ready  the  eaptive, 
For  the  day  is  at  hand.    Be  fleet 
There  is  a  st^r  in  the  crowd. 

^  «arak,  who  makest  the  tor-^^-s 

Jn  the  temple  at  Shiloh  to  s!v 

Wilt  thou  not  carry  the  fire 

To  free  thy  people  and  mine? 

^;r^t°^^-^f- judgment  and  council 
And  prophesied  truly,  in  vain? 
Are  my  words  but  as  wind  of  ff,«  a 
Mv  t^WrU  .  ^^^  desert, 

My  talk  but  as  running  of  rain? 

Is  t^ere  none  to  accomplish  my  vision? 

Is  there  ncne  to  believe  what  I  see  > 
Am  la  babbler  of  Baal? 

O  Barak,  what  am  I  to  thee? 


21 


r 


imm:^ 


22 


DAUGHTERS   OF   DAWN 


Barak 

O  Dehoran,  for  judgment 
The  tribes  come  up  to  thee, 
The  tents  all  know  thy  wisdom 
From  Jordan  to  the  sea. 
In  the  hills  thy  name  is  spoken, 
By  the  rivers  it  is  heard. 
The  captains  seek  thy  counsel, 
The  wayward  heed  thy  word. 


II 


And  when  I  set  the  torches 
Tt  light  the  Holy  Place, 
They  pale  as  I  remember 
The  glory  of  thy  face. 
But  three  days  since  at  sunrise 
Did  thy  messenger  draw  nigh 
Breathless  before  the  doorway, 
To  seek  me.    Here  am  I. 


In  the  light  of  this  thy  counsel, 
What  shall  thy  servant  do, 
But  carry  the  dread  summons 
To  raise  the  tribes  anew? 


As  thy  soul  lives,  among  them 
The  word  of  God  shall  pass, 
As  fire  amo,.g  the  stubble. 
As  wind  among  the  grass, 

Onlyif  thougo  wlthmel 
Else  here  I  will  abide. 

I  have  nor  hope  nor  portion 

That  is  not  by  thy  side. 

Mine  is  the  strength  to  conquer, 

And  mme  the  skill  of  hand. 

But  not  the  inward  knowledge 

To  see  and  understand. 

Then  take  thy  staff  and  mantle, 
Make  fast  thy  sandal-thong, 
For  thou  Shalt  teach  me  wisdom. 
And  I  will  make  thee  strong 
Dhborah  makes  a  sign  of  assent. 
^  peerless  among  women, 
There  is  no  other  way 
Since  God  in  the  beginning 
Breathed  spirit  into  clay. 

Here  a  religious  dance  begins.     The  multU 
"AKAK  for  final  exit. 


--^-K-'-\ 


^&>i^. 


24 


DAUGHTERS  OF   DAWN 


So  go  we  up  before  Him 
To  the  hills,  ten  thousand  strong 
And  I  will  lead  the  fighting, 
And  thou  shalt  lift  the  song. 
The  ages  shall  remember, 
When  we  are  plunged  in  night, 
How  Deborah  and  Barak 
Did  battle  for  the  Light. 

Curtain  and  Music 


r:y: 


^^j$^ 


J 


III 

BALKIS 
Tenth  Century  B.  C. 


i: 


y^.^1^-.. 


PERSONS   IN   Tlin   SCENE 

Balkis,  Queen  of  Sheba 
Solomon,  King  of  Israel 
Musicians  and  Attendants 


if 


26 


It*: 


ii!C*.  Ji. 


9 1    <i     1*^ 


'vr?^ 


\i 


r'" 


B  A  L  K  I S 


.■:>J- 


BALKIS 

I'kOUlUUR 

I^Bypf,  Assyria,  Chal.I.T,,  pas, 

Across^ehc  ,v„Hd's  ..cae  sta«e  fro.  Jark  ,„ 

Amid  the  stumbling  outcries  of  the  nonr 
^n<^.^".hesp,em,i.p„.„„f,,;,X",,„^^^ 

While  Israel,  eleavin,  ;o  hor  lofty  faith 
none  pure  God  of  j„,ei„  and  o'nghe 
ll  7-^J  ■■..-  .Iriven  „„,  ,,,«en  an.f  hr'uised 

Under  the  harrow  of  the  conqueror's  ha" 
Through  centuries  of  carnage,  lus,  and  X'o.. 

Till  from  that  turmoil,  as  from  evil  dreams 
In  Judah  rose  a  king,  humanely  wise 
Abov-ea.m,„.    And  Rulers  of  , he  Dusk 

Up    :"r     ■"  T"""'  ''-™S  ^'  '"e  Tight 
Up  to  Jerusalem  in  wonder  came. 


28 


DAUr.llTKRS  OF   PAWN 


Chorus 

In  crimson  and  gold 
By  the  ivory  throne, 
Who  is  she  who  makes  hold, 
With  a  pride  all  her  own, 
To  prove  with  hard  questions  the  wisdom  that 
fame  has  made  first  in  the  land? 

As  the  twelve  lions  gaze 
And  the  thurifers  swing, 
She  stands  in  amaze 
Before  the  great  king. 
And  her  strength  is  as  water,  beholding  his 
splendor  and  knowledge  expand. 

Her  walk  has  the  sway 
Of  a  sea  in  the  wind, — 
The  strong  supple  play 
Of  a  panther  of  Ind, — 
The  magic  of  might  is  about  her;  her  sorcery 
who  shall  withstand! 

By  the  long  camel  trains 
Bearing  gifts  above  price. 


i 


J^Atrr.MTKRS    OF   PAWM 


i 


20 


All  the  wealth  of  the  plains, 
Sliver,  alKum  and  spice 
And  purple   and   gold  without  n,easure,   and 
peacocks,  and  pearls  by  the  strand,- 

By  her  garments  all  hright, 
By  her  gems  from  Kanaugfi, 
Her  luxurious  height. 
And  her  swarthy  low  hrow. 
Jt  's  Balkis,   dark  Queen  of  Sheba. 
ring  .1  ,s  Solomon's  hand. 


By  the 


"c-     1'c  Q,ur.,  of  SM..-S  „,.,skia,.s  aj„,. 
.Js  BM,s  n,u-n  fro,,,   ,„e  paUcv,  after  her 

leaving  her  alone.  -^' 

Balkis 

King  I,  Balkis.  Quec„  „f  Sheba,  came  eo  greet 
thee  from  afar,—  ^ 

Feel  thy  sway  and  know  ,hy  wisdom  and  thy 
splendor  as  they  are. 


30 


DAUGHTERS  OF   DAWN 


All  the   unmatched  wealth   and  glory  of  thy 

House  I  would  behold; 
And  I  brought  thee  royal  treasury  gems  and 

frankincense  and  gold. 

But  an  overpowering  grandeur  and  a  strange 

unearthly  lore 
That  surround  thee,  have  undone  me  with  a 

spell  unknown  before. 
Whence  are  they?    And  how  should  any  mor- 

tal  being  so  outshine 
Pomp   and   pride   and  power  of  armies— all 

earth's  riches — his  or  mine? 

Where  Is  all  my  strong  assurance  which  the 

desert  knew  in  fear? 
What  befell  my  proven  knowledge  keen  as  a 

dividing  spear? 

Am  I  a  fond  girl  before  him,  hand  to  tremble, 

cheek  to  pale, 
That  his  speech  should  shake  my  heartstrings 

like  a  palm  grove  in  a  gale? 

Great  Earth,  give  mc  back  my  courage !  Desert 

wind  and  sun,  renew 
The  wild  strength  of  heart  that  made  me  as 

unquestioning  as  you! 


Kl 


^^mms^^a^^^' 


'h^iii 


.  .    *-; 


J^'l,"^ 


■<T^-  «.:«■.■>.  .  L 


I  >  -ii. 


I   f 


^1    ■^■ 


f,    f. 


"GREATKING.   WHAT  AM   I   TO  THEE?" 


i 


^^^m^t^^  msiMiwmmM 


'^tsmssffsfs^m^fi 


^^VrlT'  *'  "^"^  "'  P""«'  "«  they 
bowed  before  my  will?  '^ 

No  more  I    For  my  tyranny  U  vanquished.    All 
I  was,  IS  naught. 

Like  the  play  of  pampered  children  seem  the 

ends  for  which  I  wrought 
AH  my  trappings  and  my  triumphs  are  as  fag. 

gots  without  flame.  ^ 

Like  a  road  from  night  to  morning  seems  the 

way  by  which  I  came. 

Life  beyond  me,  take  my  homage,  as  the  sun 
drmks  from  the  stream  I 

who  has  caught  thy  gleam  I 

wind'l'  7T"  ""^  •'""'■  "^  *e  strong 
Wind  bends  the  tree, 

Lord  of  Light,  thou  hast  enslaved  me  I    Great 
Kmgl    What  am  I  to  thee? 

irmn  of  attendants  and  retainer!.    As  she  dh 
nus,c,ans    enter  playing,    ^.^in,    tack^.^d. 


-T^iwsifT— .^ar-iaisiKB^ 


I, 


32 


DAUGHTERS  OF  DAWN 


The  King  enters  speaking,  and  dismisses  his 
attendants  with  a  gesture. 

Solomon 

0  Balkis,  Queen  of  thy  kind,  I  must  find  thee 

again. 

1  have  sought  in  the  sound  of  the  flute  and  the 

harpstring  in  vain 
The  enchantment  that  lurks  in  thy  voice  for  the 

stirrim;  of  man! 
No  fire  oi  gems  like  thine  eyes,  no  dye  like  thy 

tan! 

What  gives  thee  thy  lustre,  like  amber  aglow 
with  old  wine? 

What  perfume  of  cedar,  of  sunshine  and  sum- 
mer is  thine? 

The  palpitant  sense  of  thy  presence  is  still  on 
the  air. 

My  fir-trees  have  caught  the  blue  shadows  that 
lurk  in  thy  hair. 

Who  taught  thee   that  sibylline   quiet  which 

teases  my  power, 
As  the  strength  of  soft  winds  the  ocean  uplifts 

in  an  hour? 


m 


T^i^TT'^rTrKr^vEmm 


DAUGHTERS   OF   DAWN 


33 


Thy  leonine  courage,  thy  query  that  throbs  to 
the  mark, 

Are  fires  of  new  revelation,  enkindling  the  dark. 

Thy  gifts  hold  the  glamour  of  giving  that 
dwells  in  thy  hand ; 

Thy  tribute  no  kingship  could  merit;  stay  thou 
m  our  land! 

My  realm  is  a  desert  without  thee  to  set  it 
abloom ; 

My  skill  is  but  dull,  since  it  caught  not  th>    vit 
m  its  loom. 

Come,  give  me  thine  ardor  that  leaps  from  the 

iip  to  the  heart  I 
Come,  teach  me  the  tremor  of  eyelids  where 

tears  wait  to  start  I 

Come,  tell  me  the  word  that  was  spoken  when 
Lucifer  felil 

There  is  naught  at  the  source  of  dominion  thou 
knowest  not  well. 

^t  the  end  of  his  soliloquy  Solomon  goes 
out,  following  the  direction  taken  by  Balkis. 

Curtain  and  Music 


rr**i* 


I 


lli 


H 


^^■"^^ 


1 
I 

c 

1 

i 


IV 

SAPPHO 

Sixth  Century  B.  C. 


i  .^: 


PERSONS   IN  THE   SCENE 


Sappho 

Phaon 

Atthis 

Anactoria 

Gyrinna 

GORGO 
DiCA 

Telesippa 
Mnasidica 
Myrto 
Lais 

Myrtocleia 
Bacchis         I 
Chrysis         J 


Friends  of  Sappho 


i 


f 


S»I^5I^:;v 


LhMl 


1 


/i! 


SAP"  IK) 


SAPPHO 

Prologue 

While  Israel  cringed  eo  .la-nd  Omnipotence 
An     d„ele  ,„  fe„  „f  ,he  unspoken  Lj    ' 
Wh  le  pnests  of  V.gy,,  p„„j„„j  „„ 
And  N,„eveh  was  sinking  ,„  ,,e.  joo^,"'"' 
The  day  was  spreading  on  the  .'Egean  sea, 

Where^white-sailed  Tyrian  coasters  phcd  with 
And^glad  young  ,-,e„as  hailed  the  wakening 
The^re^J,eyond    marble    cliffs    where    jonquil, 

Were  rosy  porticos  and  temples  dim 
With  mellow  ivory  and  dusky  gold. 

Her  gardens  odorous  with  hyacinth, 
Her  r,ver.l,eds  ablaze  with  pomegranate, 
Her  gr^es  of  laurel  spreading  in'he  s     .- 
There  hke  a  tulip  where  the  flame  n,  life 
Burns  <,u,ck  and  clear,  bloomed  Lesbos  of  the 

Music 


if 


38 


DAUGHTERS      P   DAWN 


I  f 


¥t  j' 


(!   . 


Cho,  l  s 

Who  is  this  wi'l:  I'f  -f   rst 
In  her  luminous  ey  '^,    - 
Whose  rapture  u  .u.  1 1! 
Burns  quickly  ;>!'  '    i-*  ; 
As  the  dew  burned  aw    v   <t    ' 
leaves  only  the  color   .nd  I    .: . 


lOrning 


She  is  vibrant  aid  warm 
As  a  meadow  at  noon; 
She  is  lonely  as  storm, 
Or  the  cloud-sailing  moon; 
She  is  glad  as  new  friendship  unbroken,  and 
sad  as  old  loves  that  expire. 

She  is  swift  as  a  thrush, 
The  noiseless  of  wing, 
\v^hen  the  damp  woodlands  gush 
With  his  lyric  of  spring. 
She  dances  like  small  meadow  rivers  that  run 
through  the  twilight  and  sing. 

This  is  Sappho.     Men  gave 
To  new-minted  gold 


Ilcr  image  to  save 
f'or  the  peoples  untold, 

That  her  heautv   mur^*- 

^auf)    might  ever  companion    the 

echoing  chords  of  .,cr  lyre. 

n.ough  all  lovely  things 
lo  the  dust  shall  l,e  traced, 
^r^d  the  names  of  great  kings 
irom  their  tombs  be  effaced, 
Hername  shall  be  fresh  through  the  ages  as 
i>Pring  rains  on  the  ruins  of  Tyre. 

The  garden  of  Sappho's  house  in  Lesbos 
y^^;^^^^^^e.ches,a,ree.s,.uej 

tn  the  dutauce.    A  ..all  at  the  foot  of  the  aar- 
<^-^>^nh  a, ate  Into  the  street.     ThhlZ 
^ff'/^'^-rHe^.^thalo^odoorste,^ 
^nh  the  ground.    It  is  afternoon. 

Enter   from    another   part   of    th.         j 


40 


DAUGHTERS  OF  DAWN 


i 


\\>  /i 


n 


Anactoria 
How  warm  the  new  sun  is ! 

Chrysis 

Surely  it  is  full  time 
To  honor  our  Adonis  1 

DiCA 

Where  is  Sappho? 

Atthis 

Sappho  1 

They  all  call  in  unison. 
Sappho!     Sappho!     Sappho! 

Enter  Sappho  from  the  house. 

Sappho 

Sweet  friends!    Has  the  sunshine 
Lit  thoughts  of  Adonis 
In  your  lovely  heads? 

Bring  thy  lute,  Gyrinna! 
Dica,  bring  thy  garlands! 
And  thy  golden  jonquils, 


i 


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1 


;^jm 


Chryslsl     Myrtocleia, 

Dance  here  at  my  left  hand  I 
Thou  hore,  dearest  AtthisI 
Myrto  shall  be  chorus, 
With  her  silver  voice. 


41 


Ana.-roria,  thou 
Ardentest  of  lovers 

(Anactoria  embraces  her) 
ihy  sweet  call  would  waken 
The  sleepiest  Adonis  I 
Oh,  these  happy  hours 
Of  the  spring  in  Lesbos! 
Surely  he  must  harken 
To  our  chorus  now. 
They  dance,  joining  in  the  refrain  of  Myrto's 
Hymn  to  Adonis. 


Now  the  winter  is  gone  by, 
And  the  swallow  builds  again, 

(Lovely  Adonis!) 
Now  the  quickening  sun  is  warm, 
And  the  wind  is  soft  with  rain. 
(Lovely  Adonis!) 


M\ 


42 


DAUGHTERS  OF  DAWN 


a 


Now  the  waking  earth  is  sweet 
With  the  scent  of  purple  flowers. 

(Thou  sweet  Adonis!) 
All  the  buds  are  opening  wide, 
Wasting  through  the  golden  hours. 

(Thou  fond  Adonis!) 

Now  the  nightingales  are  come, 
With  their  piercing  flutes  of  gold; 

(Beloved  Adonis!) 
And  thy  lovers  cry  to  thee, 
In  their  passion,  as  of  old. 

(Cruel  Adonis!) 

Call  him  bac'i  across  the  years! 
He  is  fairer  than  the  day. 

(Hear  us,  Adonis!) 
Love,  ah,  love, — is  anything 
Half  so  sweet,  for  all  men  say? 

(Harken,  Adonis!) 

Fling  his  robe  of  frost  aside. 
And  his  bands  of  sleep  unbind  I 
(Waken,  Adonis!) 


1^ 


I!  I 


'^^MW^KmsimfM^--'s^jmsi^sm'i£ 


DAUGHTERS  OP  DAWN 


Were  they  lovelier  long  ago 

Those  who  loved  thee-or  more  kind? 
(Love  us,  Adonis  I) 

Cherish  him  with  tender  fire 
In  the  woodlands  of  the  spring, 

(Deathless  Adonis  I) 
And  with  him  assuage  desire. 
Ah,  Is  love  so  fleet  a  thing? 
(Lovely  Adonis  I) 

Street  music  is  heard. 

Chrysis 
Hark,  a  tambourine  I 

Atthis 

The  street  musicians  I 
Anactoria 

That's  the  boy  from  Naxos I     O  the  darling! 

Do  you  love  him,  DIca,-or  the  dark  one      ' 
W-th  the  captive  woodbird?    He  Is  thine. 

ClIRYSIS 

They  are  moving  on  now. 


43 


-  ^1 
^1 


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ir:  "i'L.  'hl'S'  '^i^mm^'Ma^amM^^sm 


w 


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.i  f 


44 


DAUGHTERS  OF  DAWN 


Anactoria 

Let  us  follow  1 

^  ney  run  off,  laughing.  When  they  are  gone, 
Sappho  sits  on  a  bench,  beginning  to  le 
sad.     The  afternoon  is  waning. 

Sappho 

Ah,  me !  .  .  .  May  Adonis 

Find  them  I  .  .  .  This  soft  spring  wind 

Makes  my  fillet  heavy. 

She  loosens  her  hair. 
Thou  dear  swallow  flashing 
Over  Mytilene, 
Art  thou  never  weary 
All  the  blinding  day  long 
In  our  Northern  blue? 

She  sings 

If  death  be  good, 

Why  do  the  gods  not  die  ? 

If  life  be  ill, 

Why  do  the  gods  still  live? 


V      ! 


W     ■ 

i 

N 


M^iM'mmtimit^Dmm^rm'^-iMMJiAmsmiW'^.  mi  i:;^fis^,^^i^Aa^^£  w:-i 


DAUGHTERS   OF   DAWN 


45 


If  love  be  naught, 

Why  do  the  gods  still  love? 
If  love  be  all, 

What  should  men  do  but  love? 

What  a  thing  is  woman 
In  this  world!    All  music, 
Ecstasy,  and  dreaming, 
With  her  gems  and  garlands, 
Gauze  and  gold  I     All  dancing, 
And  bright  laughter,  bubbling 
Like  a  silver  fountain 
Out  of  th^;  dark  earth  I 

And  her  friendships,— stories 
Told  to  amuse  children  I 
Shadows  that  fly  seaward  I 
All  the  while  her  heart  aches 
Only  with  one  longing, 
One  demand  .  .  .  O  Phaon, 
Thou  art  so  long-  absent 
From  this  empty  world ! 

In  just  such  lovely  weather 
He  would  come  v/ith  evening. 
To  sit  here  all  happy  . 


wr-'M^^aum^m^Tn 


46 


DAUGHTERS  OF   DAWN 


,  r  ^ '  ^ 


hi 


I  could  hear  him  far  off 
In  the  fragrant  twilight, 

(//  flute  is  heard  in  the  distance) 
Ere  he  crossed  the  meadow. 

The  playing  grows  more  distinct. 
O,  praise  Aphrodite! 
Phaon! 

Enter  Piiaon. 

Phaon !     Phaon ! 
What  am  I  to  thee? 

Phaon 
O  my  Sappho !    Heart  of  gladness, 
What  should  thy  soul  do  with  sorrow? 
See,  I  bring  thee  gems  from  Egypt, 
Phrygian  linen  white  as  sea-foam. 

Scarlet  cloth  from  Tyre; 
Eastern  perfumes,  and  a  girdle 
Of  wrought  gold  from  ancient  Sidon. 
Not  a  port  but  has  paid  tribute 
To  thy  beauty,  in  the  sea-bales 

They  unlade  for  thee. 

Sappho 
Only  one  gift  have  the  high  gods  given 
To  man,  Phaon,  without  stint  or  question, 
As  my  heart  knows, — love. 


V'  I 


w^,'T^.i^i::^  .^i**iiSP!' i'w  '^/•M^iia??»w;5risis»>t«af)5a5aKi--~ija*: 


47 

Thou  art  all  my  Egypt  and  my  Sidon 
Earth  and  sea  have  paid  me  their  full  tribute. 
it  thou  love  me  still. 

Pi  I  AON 
Sapp'-o,  not  an  isle  from  Rhodes  to  Imbros, 
Not  a   pme-dark  headland  where   the   foan, 

breaks, 

But  has  heard  the  prayers  and  eager  vows  I 
whispered 
Day  and  night  for  thee. 

When  I  walked  through  splendid  sunlit  cities, 
My  lone  heart  was  traversing  a  desert, 
And  the  murmuring  throngs  were  but  as  mov- 
mg  sand-drifts, 
Sappho,  without  thee. 

Nevermore,  till  the  dread  hour  shall  part  us. 
May  I  be  beyond  thy  call,  thy  hand-touch ! 
Thou  art  all  about  me  like  the  sweet  dusk 
wheehng 

Up  from  the  great  sea. 
They  go  into  the  house.    Night  is  falling. 
Curtain  and  Music 


>ii»'-" 


'  I 


N'  i 


ji 


V 

IZEYL 
Fifth  Century  B.  C. 


49 


.fraKi»i.%if 


Ml 


ri 


il 


PERSONS   IN  THE   SCENE 
IZEYL 

Buddha 

A  Man-servant  of  Izeyl 

Two  Disciples  of  Buddha. 

Attendants  and  House  Servants  of  Izeyl 


t^u 


50 


v^aES 


i 

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If 

It' 

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1  li.  ii 

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IZEVL 


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^A:mcmw^j^^^¥r. 


D.MKJMTf.RS   OF    [)\\VN 


51 


IZEYL 

Prologue 

The  Himalayas,  Dwellings  of  the  Snow. 
Look  down  on  all  the  fertile  Ganges  pi.  I,,, 
Where,  spreading  like  a  flood  from  high  I'.rnir 
Seeking  new  land,  the  Aryan  drift  went  b^ 
Singing  glad  Vcdas  while  the  world  was  you.A. 

Then  rose  the  priestly  Brahman  over  them 
With  bonds  of  caste,  stern  ritual  and  rule, 
The  sterile  rites  and  dull  formalities, 
That  would  enslave  the  incarnate  soul  of  maa 
And  blight  the  progress  of  a  growing  world. 

Here,  having  pity  for  the  plight  of  men 

And  all  their  futile  agonies  of  life, 

Came  Buddha,  the  Enlightened  in  the  Way, 

Preaching  Renunciation  of  Desire, 

The  only  surety  of  an  earthly  peace. 

Music 


. -.S*-':-  "^X.'. '■■''•■  <•   -J   ■■f.'   '. 


It; 


'    V' 


52 


DAUGHTERS  OF  DAWN 


\l\ 


Chorus 

Who  stands  in  the  dusk 
Of  the  courtesan's  square, 
With  an  odor  of  music 
In  her  nosom  and  hair, 
With  anklets  of  turquoise  and  silver  that  clink 
for  the  passer  to  hear? 

Mysterious  as  night, 
With  her  hot  scarlet  mouth, 
And  a  glittering  light 
In  those  eyes  of  the  South, 
As  if  all  of  her  exquisite  being  had  never  one 
hunger  to  fear! 

She  moves  like  the  smoke. 
As  it  swoons  on  still  air. 
When  the  censers  evoke 
Old  gods  from  their  lair; 
The  sway  of  her  body  is  music  more  madden- 
ing than  incense  or  prayer. 

The  desire  of  the  heart, 
The  delight  of  the  eye, 


I 


I  ,  I 


DAUGHTERS   OF  DAWN 


S3 


She  knows  not  apart, 
To  forego  nor  deny, 
For  love  is  the  sum  of  her  being,  and  beauty  is 
all  of  her  gear. 

Ah,  fear  her  not!    Hers 
Is  that  passion  of  soul 
Which  no  height  deters, 
No  terrors  control, — 
Izeyl,  the  enamored  of  Buddha,  who  waits  for 
her  god  to  draw  near. 


The  courtyard  in  front  of  Izeyl's  house  in 
the  Deer  Forest  north  of  Benares.     A  large 
rug  is  spread  in  the  centre  of  the  court,  a  low 
divan  at  one  side,  with  small  tables  or  benches 
near  it.    On  the  opposite  side,  a  wall  and  gate- 
-^ay,  the  main  entrance  to  the  grounds.    It  is 
moonlight.      Servants    enter    carrying    silver 
dishes  of  rice,  fruits,  and  confections,   basins 
and  jugs  of  water,  towels,  etc.,  and  set  them 
down  on  the  tables  and  the  ground.  Izeyl  with 
two  attendants  enters  from  the  house. 


ij; 


54 


DAUGHTERS  OF  DAWN 


'!;-f-1 


mi 


IZEYL 

Make  all  ready.    Let  chere  be  nothing  lacking 

nor  amiss. 
Though  uc  have  had  many  guests,  there  was 

never  one  like  this. 
^  man  servant  enters  from  the  gate,  follozved 
by    Buddha    and    tzco    disciples    zvho    ap- 
proach and  bow  to  IzEYL. 
Welcome,  O  enlightened  one,  to  this  house.    A 
happy  day 

Brings  thy  footsteps  to  my  door,  bids  thee  tarry 

on  thy  way, 
Lets  me  serve  thee.    That  my  lord's  heart  with 

gladness  may  be  free. 
Rest  here  in  the  perfumed  dusk  of  the  roses 

strewn  for  thee. 


Buddha 

Thy  words  are  lavish  as  the  wayside  stars, 
Shedding  their  bounty  for  the  pilgrim  night. 
No  goodlier  seeds  than  kindness  come  to  blos- 
som 

In  this  great  world  to  be  faint  heart's  delight. 


'.:-'*_i''-,      '::  |APV 


^.^■P^^<:'mM:^:-X:-/&Mi^ 


nAUGHTERS   OF  DAWN 


55 


Servants  ztait  upon  Buddha,  remove  his  san- 
<Ials,  .vash  the  dust  from  his  feet,  offer  him 
food  and  drink.  He  takes  a  cup  of  ivater 
hut  declines  to  eat.  His  disciples  withdraw 
to  a  distant  part  of  the  court.  The  sere 
ants  go  out,  except  Izeyl's  two  personal  at^ 
tendants,  who  stand  back  by  the  house 
door. 


IZEYL 

Sit,  Lord.     I  will  dance  for  thee.     Here  until 

the  moon  grows  pale 
Thou  Shalt  be  the  worshipped  one,  I  thy  wor- 

shipper  Izeyl. 

She  prepares  to  dance.     The  dance  is  one  of 
the  ancient  dramatic  dances  of  India.     It 
portrays  the  first  glimpse  of  the  belovr  ' 
embarrassment,   infatuation,   coquetry,   en- 
ticement, and  the  overtures  of  love.      It 
then  becomes  more  reckless  in  its  sorceries 
^■fn/c  the  beloved  still  seems  obdurate.   The 
dance    next    betrays   jealousy,    anger,    and 
finally  melting  sorrow  and  surrender. 


'  t 


!     i 


¥ 


II 


iHii 


56 


i).M:(;nri.RS  of  dawm 


Now  the  play  is  Love.     It  moves  like  a  wind 

among  the  trees, 
Woman's  drama  of  the  soul,  with  mysterious 

melodies. 
I'ear  as  faltering  as  night,  desire  imperious  as 

day, 

Hold  Love  at  their  mystic  height,  till  wild  joy 

must  have  its  way. 
Love  is  water  for  thy  thirst,  Love  is  honey  for 

thy  mouth. 

Is  thy  heing  never  faint  in  a  land  of  parching 

drouth? 
Loose  the  girdle  from  her  breast  and  the  lotus 

from  her  hair! 
Take  her,   for  sweet  life  or  death!     Is  there 

anyone  more  fair? 
She  dances,  and  at  the  conclusion  of  her  dance 

falls  at  Buddha's  feet. 
Lo,  my  beauty  at  thy  feet,  and  my  hand  upon 

thy  knee, 
In  despair  of  love  I  lay.     Buddha,  what  am  I 

to  thee? 

Buddha  puis  out  his  hand  and  touches  her,  as 
she  remains  seated  near  him  on  the 
ground. 


m 


'SIT.    LORD.    I    UU.L    UA.NCI.    FOR   THEE' 


.if. 


I . 


it 

'I  I"" 

if 


''■'  :   <i 


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DAUGIITKRS   OF   DAWN 


57 


Buddha 
Thou  art  all  beauty,  glowing  sense  and  spirit, 
The  world's  supremcst  splendor  and  desire. 
Thou  art  the  flower-like  joy,  the  flame-like  pas- 
sion 

Whose  breath  consumes  men  with   relentless 
fire. 

Thou  art  the  subtle  unforgotten  fragrance 
That  hauncs  this  life  with  an  assuaging  power. 
And  would  beguile  the  soul  upon  her  journey,' 
To  deify  one  perishable  hour. 

But  I,  compelled  by  sorrow  for  men's  warfare 
Against  their  bonds  upon  the  wheel  of  life, 
Through  sore  compassion  found  the  Great  Re- 

nouncement 
The  only  strength  to  stay  the  ravenous  strife. 
Crave  nothing!    But  in  kindness  with  rejoicing 
Follow  the  common  highway  unto  peace. 
There  only  can  survive  the  flower  of  wisdom, 
There  only  can  serene  love  find  release. 

Whoso  is  tranquil,  diligent,  undaunted, 
Not  overcome  with  riches  nor  with  cares. 
Free  from  all  anger,  arrogance,  and  baseness. 


.  t 


m 


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m 


III 


h 


58 


DAUGHTrRS   OF   DAWN 


Seeking  the  truth  as  one  who  climbs  the  stairs 
Within  a  tower  of  outlook,  while  in  all  things 
Serving  his  fellows  with  illumined  mind,— 
However  slowly,  shall  escape  from  darkness. 
And  all  the  weight  of  sorrow  leave  behind. 

For  this  I  waited  underneath  the  Bo-tree, 
Keeping  stern  vigil  through  the  holy  night, 
Until  Truth  dawned,  as  I  beheld  the  snow-peaks 
Flushed  with  a  tender  glory  height  on  height. 

Buddha   rises  and  paces  to  and  fro,   Khile 
IZEYL  remains  seated. 

And  yet   the   doubt  comes — what   avails   the 
watching 

Above  the  world  in  unimpassioned  calm? 
Do  they  not  sometimes  long,  those  soaring  sum- 
mits, 

To   wear  the  valley's   wealth   of  bloom   and 
balm? 

Ah,  not  alone  thy  beauty  moves  my  senses. 
But  the  fair  soul  within  thee  calls  my  soul. 
My  manhood  strains  at  touch  of  joy  so  tender 
To  lay  aside  the  austere  staff  and  bowl. 


nAUOIITFRS  OF   DAWN 


59 


The  servant  of  the  gate  enters  and  bows  be- 
fore IZEYL. 

Servant 

Protectress  of  the  weak,  the  poor  in  throngs 
Are  crowding  at  the  gate  to  lay  their  wrongs 
Before  the  Holy  One,  their  woes  and  wants. 
Shall  I  give  dole  us  unto  mendicants? 


IZEYL,  rising 

Nay,  I  myself  will  give,  who  have  this  day 
Received  the  wealth  that  passes  not  away. 
Let  them  be  fed.    Take  these,  and  these,  and 
these, — 

She  pulls  off  her  gold  and  jewelled  ornaments 
and  gives  them  to  the  servant,  her  women 
at  the  same  time  removing  her  anklets. 

And  all  I  have  for  their  necessities. 

Turn  gold  and  gems  to  bread  that  men  may 
live, 

There  still  is  more,— I  have  my  life  to  give. 
Go,  tell  them  that  Izeyl  became  to-night 
A  follower  of  Buddha  and  the  light. 


ill 


6o 


' 


K 


iti 

! 


I 


I 


,1 


i.t  i 


ill 


nAUflMTKKS   DP    DAWN 


\V 


The    scn-cnit    yua    am    and    \/.\  VL    finr     to 
BunniiA. 

Now  the  undclcrrnincd  way  to  perfection  waits 
us  still, — 

Thou  the  sim  upon  the  height,  I  (he  mist  hcio 
the  hill! 

So,  dear  Lord,  the  play  is  done,  as  the   noon 
begins  to  fail. 

And  thy  worshipper  departs,      i'hou  shalt  sec 

no  more  rzeyi. 
This,  that  was  my  house  and  park,  for  thy  shel- 

ter  is  bestowed, 
Love's  provision  for  thy  peace  when  a-weary 

of  the  road. 

She  claps  her  hands,  and  her  allcudanis  come 
forzi-ard,  liith  the  servant  of  the  gate,  to 
"^ait  upon  her  departure. 

Buddha 
Thou  wondrous  prodigal,  no  merit  worthy 
Thy  matchless  bounty  hrve  I,  who  must  pass, 
Like  a  disturbing  wind  among  the  palm-Icaves, 
Like  an  unresting  shadow  from  the  crass. 
But  thy  good  deed  like  P.  rcvv.  ing  perfume, 


.>.'l^-» 


"C    Bi;i,()\  I-  I)    OM-;,    FAR|.  \vi:i.  !•• 


^tfH 


MICROCOPY   RESOIUTION   TEST   CHART 

(ANSI  ond  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


^     y^PPUEO  IN/MGE 


'653  East   Mam  Sfeet 

Rochester.    Ne»    York  U609        USA 

('16)    482  -  0300  -  Phone 

(7!6)   288  -  5989  -  Fa, 


'■'■■'.. .f'»«W    •     l-i 


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DAUCniTKHS   OF   n WVNT 


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Within  the  memories  of  men  shall  ilwcll, 

Inspired  ahandon!     May  the  Perfect  Way 
Requite  thee ! 

IZEYL 

O  beloved  one,  farewell! 

S/ic  goes  out,  accompamcd  by  her  two  vcomen, 
■alio  cover  their  faces  ivith  their  saris  in 
desolation.  Buddha  is  left  standing  alone 
in  the  growing  darkness. 

Curtain  and  Music 


■*''^^l 


i 
■   i. 


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'  ■  '  ! 

iff 


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persons  in  the  sckne 

The  Angel 
At  the  Tomb 


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M  A  R  Y 


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nALciiii  IKS  or  D.wvx 


<'5 


MARY 

Pro  LOG  ui: 

In  the  brief  peace  of  the  Augustan  Age, 
Three  trends  of  human  headway  checked  dieir 

course, 
Like  currents  eddying  in  a  tideless  calm. 
Kastern  magniliccnce  and  mystic  dream, 
Hellenic  learning  and  awakened  art, 

And  Roman  discipline,  all  came  tv  halt. 

As  when  unbridled  revellers  at  dawn 

Look  wanly  forth  on  time's  expectant  hush. 

Stilled  of  a  sudden  in  satiety. 

The  ancient  world  of  lust  and  rapine  seemed 

To  pale  with  prescience  of  impending  doom. 
Outside  a  Syrian  rest-house,  with  no  pomp 
Save  glittering  troops  of  stars  relieving  guard, 
A  Prince  of  the  Eternal  Light  was  born, 
Whose  only  ensign  was  a  loving  heart. 

Music 


■v^'^F 


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66 


n.\cf;im  Rs  or  daw.v 


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ClFORUS 

What  spirit  so  white, 
With  eyes  bent  on  tlie  Rroimil, 
As  (hough  lost  in  the  plight 
Of  a  sorrow  profoimcl, 
That  tenderness,    faith,   and   devotion  should 
founder  In  death  and  dismay? 

She  lifts  her  worn  face, 
And  the  glory  is  there, — 
The  mothering  grace, 
The  victorious  care, 
That  have  fostered  the  hope  of  the  ages  and 
prospered  the  world  on  its  way. 

Her  fair  mouth  Is  still, 
Her  hands  are  at  rest, 
With  that  power  to  thrill, 
By  the  quiet  possessed, 
m  the  soul  to  its  Ic-d  is  surrendered  and 
divinity  swells  In  the  breast. 

O  all  who  have  prayed 
To  the  glorious  son 


1^ 


i)\r<;Mri.Ks  or  dawn 


(n 


Of  thi3  poor  Jewish  ni-iJ, 
Since  her  travail  was  done, 
Have  yc  bred  In  your  sons  the  high  courage  to 
be  heroes  of  truth  In    nclr  day? 

Have  ye  given  brave  thought 
To  bring  beauty  to  birth? 
I  lave  yc  suffered  and  wrought 
I' or  the  welfare  of  earth? 
So    your    servl'c    transfigured    to    glory,    !  kc 
Mary's,  shall  not  pass  away. 

A  rocky  place  before  the  sepulchre  of  Christ. 
The  etitruurc  to  the  tomb  is  on  slightly  rising 
ground  at  the  back,  ziiih  straight  evergreen 
trees  on  either  side.  His  mother  is  seated  on 
a  siune  near  by,  clad  in  ichite,  uith  a  fold  of 
her  garment  cccr  her  head.  She  scwsely 
moves  until  tozvard  the  close  of  her  first  speech. 
It  is  just  before  dazvn  on  the  morning  of  the 
'third  dcr/  after  the  crucifixion. 

Matt 

l^ord  of  the  darkness  and  the  broken  heart, 
tht  still  purple  hour  before  the  sun, 


dims.^ 


^sw. 


r,8 


nM'fiim.Ks  oP  n\\\ 


l: 


II 


I 


]' 


I. 

!  I 


Upon  whose  floor  our  lives  are  sifted  chaff. 
\iul  through  whose  har  Is  tlie  sands  of  ages 
run, 

Thy  will  he  done! 

Shall  there  he  no  compassion  In  rlie  w-ht, 
No  h  ,d  nor  hearing  of  our  firiev  )om, 

No  heart  that  feels  the  loneliness  oj  ,,urs, 
No  hope  of  tidings  from  the  unknown  tomb 
'I'o  pierce  the  gloom? 

After  the  anguish  ot  defeat  and  death, 
Through  boundless  desolation  of  the  years, 
Is  there  no  sign  to  help  us  live  or  die, 
No  touch  to  wipe  away  the  bitter  tears, 
And  o'llet  fears? 

Knows  God  the  agon^  o.^  mother  pain 
For  every  sorrow  of  thr  son  she  bore? 
Can  any  cry  to  Heaven  bring  again 
The  voice  they  have  entombed,  and  closed  the 
door, 

For  evermore? 

If  mortal  heart  can  bear  the  woe  and  wrong, 
And  still  live  on  in  sorrow  day  by  day, 


. 


w^ww    m 


nArcic  ;.::s  or  owvv 


69 


'UOIIS     ^(1! 


It  hrokfii  lute  can  lilt  a 
Or  darkened  lamp  still  serve  with  dying  ray, 
Sh(»\v  thou  the  way! 


(ircat  (;„d,  thou  sccst  the  path  I  tread  alone, 
I'hoi,  knowest  all  that  has  hcen  and  shall  he, 
And  all  ;ny  love  .,f  I  li,n  who  was  thine  own,— 
What  in  thy  mighty  d--  am  of  destiny 
Am  I  to  thee? 

As  she  doses  her  speech,  she  rises  and  goes 
a  step  or  tzio  Umard  the  tomb,  lifting  im- 
ploriucj  arms   aloft,   the  fold  of  her  rohe 
slipping  from  her  head  as  she  does  so.    She 
stands  thus  transfixed  for  a  moment,  facing 
the  sepulchre,  and  then  turns  uith  a  look 
of  uonder,  her  arms  still  upslretched,  her 
'•^■ehole  figure  illumined  in  the  first  rays  of 
the  new  sun,  and  her  face  transfigured  idth 
rapture  of  revelation.     From  the  slightly 
higher  ground  she   has   taken,   she  looks 
toller,  too,  than  her  iiont;  so  that  passers- 
l^y  might  think  they  had  seen  an  angel.    She 
speaks  in  a  level  tone. 


¥^wm^',i.ifmm^i^.^mi. 


^-^^ 


(i 


ft 


4    J 


H 


70 


DAUGIITF.RS   OF   DAWN 


Mary,  as  Tiir:  Anc.t.l 
Hail,  Mary  of  Sorrows,  acquainted  with  woe. 
Lift  thy  Rricf-shadowcd  gaze  to  the  light-hear- 


ing sun 


\ 


Each  quivering  leaf  and  the  dawn  winds  that 

hlow 
Breathe  solace  upon  thcc;  the  victory's  won; 
Weep  not ! 

Thy  God  holds  thy  hands  as  he  holds  night  and 

day. 
Through  the  rounds  of  his  service,  the  ways 

to  his  ends; 
When  thine  arms  are  weakest,  his  strength  is 

tiiy  stay, 
Thine  eyes  shall  sec  clear  in  the  light  that  he 

sends. 

Fear  not! 

Lift  up  thy  soul  on  the  wings  of  his  voice, 
Be  glad  thou  wert  chosen  to  play  thy  great  parf, 
Bid  all  thy  mothering  patience  rejoice, 
Let  the  world  rest  on  the  strength  of  thy  heart! 
Faint  not! 

Conceived  of  divine  love,  the  rapturous  soul, 
Stainless  as  dew  and  unfearing  as  fire, 


^mss--''^-iiwc^Tr2:^s' 


'•WEEP   NOT!" 


^ 


I    > 

f 


'.• 


' 


i  'I 


: 

'    4 

. 

1 

f 

! 

1    ^ 

1 

'l 

in 

It,  i 

1 1 


■'^2^r;?sr*"3?iiiKiiiSSP«p^ 


mimFM 


DAUGHTERS   OF    D.WVX 


71 


From  hope  unto  hope  as  the  quickened  years 

roll, 
Shall   arise  and  live  on  through  dismay  and 

desire. 

Aspire! 

The  God  of  all  good  cannot  waver  nor  sleep. 

Receive  the  sweet  truth  that  shall  lighten  thine 
eyes, 

And  be  thou  the  Angel  earth's  courage  to  keep, 

The  great  Loving-Kindness  that  lights  Para- 
dise! 

Behold! 


Shine    on    through    the    ages    and    arches    of 

heaven, 
For  thine  is  a  glorious  share  in  Ciod's  plan! 
Unto  thee  from  the  first  to  the  last  has  been 

given 

The  illuming,  the  heartening,  the  moulding  of 

man. 

Rejoice ! 

Mary  keeps  her  prophetic  pose  until  the  cur- 
tain falls. 


Curtain  and  Music 


I. 


■  f 


■t 


M, 


^^-^^■^^m  <»t,x.' "  ■rws^m-- 


VII 
ZENOBIA 
2'jo  A.  D. 


73 


h 


PERSONS   IN  THE   SCENE 

Zenobia,  Queen  of  Palmyra 

AuREUAN,  Emperor  of  Rome 

A  Troupe  of  Arab  Dancing  Girls  and  Mu- 
sicians 

Roman  Officers  and  Soldiers,  Litter-bearers, 
Guards.  Attendants,  etc. 


( 

i: 

■li 

■  i  : 


'  i 


-  f'sS^Wt'.w 


y't^^"' 


Au' 


crs, 


I 

,3 


' 


M! 


S    ' 


ill 


Ill 


Iv 


^  F  \  o  n  I  A 


«.^--- 


DALrGMTIRS   OF    D.WVM 


IS 


ZENOBIA 

Prologue 

Hark!    To  what  sound  like  thunder  far  away 
Do  cities  trcmhlc  and  stronf:  men  turn  pale? 
They  clutch  the  sword  in  Kastern  palaces, 
They  lift  the  tent-fold  on  Arabian  plains, 
And  start  in  forests  of  wild  Gaul,  to  hear 

The   tramp   of   Roman    legions    through   the 

world. 
Then    through    the    beauty   of    the    star-sown 

night 
An  angry  glare  upon  the  sky  proclaims 
An  opulent  city  given  to  the  torch 
Of  ruthless  conquerors  on  the  march  to  power. 

Where   once    men    trafficked   in   the   crowded 

streets, 
And  women  chattered  in  the  bright  bazaars, 
While  children  thronged  the   Temple  of  the 

Sun, — 
The  wild  boar  feeds  among  sad  ruined  walls 
Of  great  Palmyra  in  the  desert  sands. 

Music 


m 


\i 


76 


DAUGHTERS   OF   DWVV 


,% 
f1 


f 


! 


(1; 


ClIORCS 

Who  Is  this  come,  In  haste 
rVom  the  crowds  to  be  gone, 
Through  the  Palmyrene  waste, 
While  the  legions  draw  on. 
With  tumult  of  murderous  passions  that  con- 
quering lust  has  released? 

She  sees  at  her  gates 
Roman  standards  unfurled, 
Where  once  vassal  states 
Brought  the  trade  of  the  world, — 
Where  long  caravans  o'er  the  desert  came  in 
from  the  marvellous  East. 

She  stands  like  a  palm 
Aloof  and  unbent. 
With  the  sky's  royal  calm 
For  her  curtain  and  tent. 
Her  loveliness  still  undefeated,  her  regal  devo- 
tion unspent. 

Barbaric  in  splendor. 
Heroic  at  heart, 


:  JB».T.    Z'7./:. 


'-•■■■J  ■ '  C2ri»  -j^.n:..  "^'MA  *> 


nM'i       TFRS   OF    PAWN' 


Undautittn    and  tender, 
She  plays  fier  great  part, 
Though  the  reins  o    her  power  arc  broken,  the 
days  of  her  empire  have  ceased. 

Iltr  beauty  stiM  reigns, 
^         ^  her  h   nes  al!  have  died, 
I  lerce  graov  ^^ur  remains, — 

-'cdc  lin  pi    Je, — 
Zenobi.i  en  o.   f*; 'm   ta.  the  coveted  pearl 

of  tb;       isr. 


///  fn  It  of  A  if  man's  tt'tr  before  Palmyra. 
The  Emperor  %€mt(d,  surruundcd  by  a  fezv 
of  his  t,  (•ncrah  jml  o§,  ers.  J  troupe  of  Arab 
dancinifi  girls  t^nd  ww.v  iatis  run  in  to  dance  for 
him  Bef  re  ^.-  lose  of  their  dance  there  is 
a  stf  outside  rii  ihe  i.as  ^  arrival  of  tzvo  run- 
ners follo-a  ,  losed  litter  borne  by  eif/ht 
bearers.  The  dozen  their  burden  and,  as- 
sisted by  yu  f*--is,  Zknobia  alujhts  ziilh  one 
woman  in  zia^  ing.  Ji  sight  of  her  the  danc- 
ing girls  at  once  stop  I'rir  dance  and,  ignoring 
the  Emperor,  run  to  Zr.NOBiA,  kneel  before 
her,  and  surround  her  with  every  mark  of  loyal 


I 


N'l 


'{I 


l<4 


,1 

II 


ill   ! 

t ' 


!  1 


» 


(' 


it 


7« 


nAunrrTfRs  of  nwvx 


(hfnilnnion,  cryiiuj,  'Lotufllfe  In  /lnoiua!'  ./,« 
Al'Rii.AN  rises  atid  (ipproarlns  /i.ndijia,  </ 
inniipct  sounds  and  servants  and  darners  Jitli^ 
draw. 

Auri:li/» 

Fortunate  Is  this  hour,  indeed  I    I  lappy  the  day 
for  Rome, 

When  here  unto  Aurelian's  tent  the  Queen  of 
the  East  Is  conic! 

Zkxohia 
And  dark  for  my  country,  Kmperor! 

Auri:lian 

N:iy,  It  had  darker  been. 
Mad    not    the    gods    >  cllvered    thee    Into    my 
hands,  brave  Queen. 

ZCNOBIA 

Aurcllan,  say  not  the  gods  preside  over  a  thing 
so  base 

As  the  treachery  which  betrayed  me  here,  a 
prisoner  before  thy  face. 


n.M'finTr  Ks  OF  nwvv 


79 


().  better  far,  hml  my  luckless  star  gone  down 
in  the  dust  of  H^ht, — 

Had  my  gl«)ry  passed  unsoiled  at  last  into  et'.-r- 
nal   night ! 

And  lordher  fiad  thy  legions  shown  above  a 

broken  wall, 
Than  skulking  at  a  traitor's  gate,  let  in  at  a 

scullion's  call. 
Since  when  did  the  Roman  eagle«  deign  to  take 

a  reptile's  kill, 
Like  unclean  vultures  swooping  low  and  greedy 

for  their  fill? 

Had  not  black  treason  sold  mc  here,  like  a 
Bithynian  slave, 

Palmyra  should  have  been  my  tomb,  her  cita- 
del my  grave. 

Zcnobia  would  not  have  lived  to  be  the  spoil 
of  war, — 

To  be  the  Forum's  spectacle,  in  chains  behind 
thy  car. 

Ye  know  the  creed  of  ihc  desert  breed,  whom 

none  can  bind  nor  bow, 
Rovers  of  earth  by  right  of  birth,  from  the 

dawn  of  time  till  now. 


\nu 


4 


h 


\i 


l'C<  I 


I!!' 


80 


nAFGIITFRS   OF   DAWN 


But  even  the  gods  must  strive  In  vain,  at  war 
with  treachery. 

Their  altar  fires  arc  but  the  pyres  of  the  dar- 
ing and  the  free. 

AURELIAN 

You  wrong  the  sons  of  the  Roman  wolf  I  They 
know  the  desert's  way. 

And  well  they  know  the  proudest  foe  is  a  lion- 
ess at  bay. 

What  evil  councillors  were  thine  to  move  thee 

to  this  war? 
Did  Rome  not  give  you  peace  and  wealth,— 

could  liberty  give  more? 

Have  not  your  laden  caravans  brought  all  the 

world  in  trade 
Up  to  your  gates,  with  none  to  bar  the  roads 

that  Trajan  made? 

Zenobia 

Hear  me,  my  captor!     Had  there  been  upon 

the  Ca?sars'  throne 
One  like  Aurellan  in  days  past,  this  discord 

had  not  grown. 


DAunnTr.Rs  or  nww 


8i 


While  puny  tyrants  fought  like  knaves  for  ihc 
sceptre  fallen  low, 

Was  I  to  be  their  prize  and  fee?  By  the  Im- 
mortals, No! 

Bred  to  the  freedom  of  the  tents,  horn  of  .i 

royal  line, 
I  drew  the  tribes  into  a  Power.     I  made  it.     It 

was  mine. 
Here  out  of  turbulence  and  strife  a  sovereign 

state  I  reared, — 
Palmyra  in  the  Wilderness,  rich,  beautiful,  and 

feared. 

Insolent  Persia  felt  my  will,  even  Imperial 
Rome 

As  empire  unto  empire  in  peace  or  war  must 
come. 

Could  I  lay  by  this  sovereignty  at  a  dictator's 

word? 
Step  lightly  down  from  throne  and  crown,  and 

join  the  driven  herd? 

Ceasing  to  reign,  I  cease  to  live.     Does  Aure- 

lian  wonder  why? 
Can  a  Cssar  and  a  soldier  ask?     Need  Zeno- 

bia  reply? 


1 

i 


1 


h  -' 


I 


I  ^ 


■!,< 


(' 


I* 


■ 


i 


lit 


82 


nATTGIITF.RS   OF   DAWM 


Those  poor  dance  girls  with  matted  curls,  that 

clung  about  my  knee, 
Shall  grace   my  lord's  triumphal  march;  but 

what  am  I  to  thee? 

AURF.LIAN 

Thy  noble  words,  Zenobia,  prove  well  thy  royal 
strain. 

I  do  lamcn.  the  downfall  of  one  so  fit  to  reign. 
Had  not  ambition  duped  thee,  and  thy  guides 

who  counselled  ill. 
Palmyra   had   been  sovereign,   and  thou   her 

ruler  still. 

Let  not  ambition  lure  you,  my  captains,  to  your 
fall. 

Ever  the  overreaching  hand  must  end  by  losing 
all. 

Would  that  this    -.^dcss   folly  which   Is   the 

whole  world's  bane 
Might   die  with   me,   uprooted  never  to   rise 

again  I 

Yet  is  thy  speech  untempered,  great  leader  of 
the  tribes! 

Unfair   to    Roman    justice,    thy   bitter   grief- 
wrung  jibes. 


WMWf^ 


DAUnilTRRS   OF    DAWN 


83 


Believe  the  lonely  desert  shaH  forget  the  morn- 
ing star, 

When  Roman  virtue  has  forgot  what  truth  and 
honor  arc. 

I  were  myself  a  traitor,  had  I  not  seized  the 
hour 

When  renegade  informers  betrayed  thee  to  our 
power. 

Receive  a  soldier's  tribute !    Accept  a  Roman's 

word ! 
A  lumult  is  heard  outside.     A  band  of  unruly 

so.dicrs  clamor'ng  for  the  life  of  Zexobia 

A  number  of  officers  hurry  out  immediately 

find  quell  the  disturbance. 
Fear  not  my  wayward  legions.      Thy  guard 

shall  be  my  sword. 

No  safer  wert  thou  ever.    Thou  shalt  go  hence 

to  Rome, — 
There  with  respect  and  honor  be  welcome  and 

at  home. 

And  this  thy  noble  city  with  its  Temple  of  the 
Sun 

Shall  be  preserved  from  pillage.     For  thy  sake 
it  is  done. 


w 


tl 


S4 


nAUGIITF.RS  OF   DAWN 


Although    thy    rash    advisers   must   pay  their 

folly's  cost; 
Thou  art  no  less  an  empress,  for  an  empire's 

being  lost. 
The  world  awards  thee  homage  I 

Zenobia 

Magnanimous,  my  foe ! 

AURELIAN 

Thine    Emperor   attends   thee.      The    1.^ 
there !    We  go. 

frith  her  last  viord  Zenobia  turns  away  to 
enter  her  litter;  but  as  she  hears  Aurelian 
say  'Thine  Emperor  attends  thee'  she 
turns  and  looks  into  his  face.  Seeing  that 
he  is  preparing  to  accompany  her  on  foot, 
she  signals  her  hearers  to  follow,  and  walks 
out  by  Aurelian's  side,  bearers  and  at- 
tendants following. 

Curtain  and  Music 


\\  i 


VIII 

JEANNE  D'ARC 

1427  A.  D. 


h 


(? 


t  I 

'! 


'4: 


PERSONS    IN   THE    SCENE 

Jeanne  d'Arc 

Jacques  d'Arc,  Her  Father 


i  i 


M 


u 


ajv*c-» 


i 


( 


"^rrr 


■i" 


:-''!.*i.-,v 


TTT^ 


^'i *;!!L_-'i;-. ■'><■-. -L.'^/.*.  _:.  m}  ...  ..  ■ 


f 


in 


JKWNK    D'ARC 


I)\l  (iiriLKS   OF   DAWN 


87 


JEANNE  D'ARC 

Pro  LOG  I  IK 

For  a  thousand  years  from  Rome  lo  Agiiicourt 
Terror  and  darkness  overspread  the  world 
With  superstition,  bigotry,  and  crime, 
While  warring  nations  and  marauding  kings 
Raven  and  slay  and  wither  into  dust. 

Chivalry  rides  upon  its  last  crusade, 
And  Learning  slumbers  in  the  Church's  tomb. 
Barons  and  bishops,  emperors  and  serfs, 
Wallow  in  witchcraft,  cruelty,  and  greed. 
As  if  the  angels  had  forgotten  earth. 

Hardly  a  voice  to  keep  God's  name  alive; 
Till  on  a  summer  morn  in  lovely  France, 
On  the  shadowy  forest  border  of  the  Vosges, 
In  small  Domreniy  of  peasant  folk  is  born 
A  Little  Siscer  of  the  Nazarene. 

Music 


^n 


88 


DAlKJUriRS   OF    PAWN 


Chorus 

Who  remembers  God's  poor 
In  their  humble  attire? 
Yet  in  them  shall  enilure 
The  seeil  ami  the  fire, — 
The  strength   for   fullilment  of  longings,   and 
faith  for  the  dreaming  of  dreams. 

Who  stands  with  rapt  ga/e 
In  a  day-dream,  and  sees, — 
While  her  quiet  sheep  graze 
By  the  tA\  poplar  trees, — 
A   shadowy   legion   advancing,    an   army   that 
musters  and  gleams? 

As  a  clear  minster  bell 
Thrills  the  soul  of  the  air, 
Her  voice  lays  a  spell 
O'er  a  realm  in  despair, 
Till  the  laggard  take  arms  at  her  sum.mons, 
assured  that  God's  champion  is  there. 

Tn  war-harness  bright, 
Through  the  dust  and  the  fray, 


F)\i'(;nTr.Ks  or  n\\v\ 


89 


With  valor  alight, 
She  forpics  her  way, 
Til!  her  mission's  victorious  stanilard  on  the 
wind  above  Orleans  streams. 

No  witchcraft  was  here, — 
Slantier  wide  of  the  mark! 
Kevelatlon  shone  clear 
In  the  sainteil  Jeanne  d'Arc, — 
A  strain  of  intrepid  conviction,  which  greatly 
foresees  and  redeems. 


Outside  J.\CQUi:s  d'Arc's  home  in  the  vil- 
lage of  Domrcniy  on  the  harder     '  i  grc:it  for- 
est.    Ji:.\.\\i.:  stands  leaning  against  a  tree  a 
little  azcay  from  the  house.    Her  father  sits  on 
a  stone  nearby.   He  is  a  peasant  of  the  soil,  al- 
ready beginning  In  he  old,  and  his  mind  is  on 
the  past.      There  is  a  stream  liith  a  fezv  pal- 
larded  ivilloiis  leaning  over  '•■       t  far  azvav 
and  sheep  are  grar    ^    /;/  the  v>  adozv.     It  is 
near  sundozvn  on  a  summer  a..,.     A  large  pale 
moon  is  seen  just  rising  over  the  ziood.     Sub- 
dued music  is  faintly  heard  through  Ji-.\xxi:'s 
speeches. 


:!l 


h 


90 


l>Mu;!rTI  RS   OF    PAWN 


I . 


f 


'/ 


Jeanne 

Father,  I  hear  the  voices  now. 
Canst  thou  not  hear  them,  too, — 
'I'here  hy  the  forest  eJj^e,  so  clear, 
So  woiulerfiil,  so  true, 
With  sound  as  sweet  as  tlie  summer  rain 
When  the  little  leaves  are  new? 

Her  Father 

Ay,  lass,  I  hear.     'Twill  be  the  wind 

Talking  among  the  trees. 

'Tis  like  a  human  voice,  the  wind, 

Full  of  old  melodies. 

It  minds  me  of  the  night  I  took 

Thy  mother  gfi  my  knees. 

Jeanne 

Father,  I  cannot  mind  my  work, 

The  voices  call  me  so; 

They  call  me  at  the  dead  of  noon 

When  all  the  winds  are  low, 

And  when  the  golden  dawn  comes  up 

With  not  a  breath  av. 


n.M(;iii  I  Ks  OF'  nwvN 


9» 


I  hear  them  wliik'  F  turn  tny  wIkcI, 
And  wliIlc  I  tend  jny  sheep; 
I  hoar  them  in  the  dewy  ikisk 
When  I  lie  down  to  sleep; 
And  even  at  the  Holy  Mass 
My  mind  I  cannot  keep. 

They  call  and  call,  'Jehan,  Jehan, 

Thy  harried  country  save!' 

I  hear  them  through  the  music's  sound, 

And  when  the  censer'  wave, 

As  the  procession  of  the  I  lost 

Goes  up  the  minster  nav 


Her  Fatiikr 

Ay,  ay,  I  hear  thcc,  lass, — I  hear. 
Thou  mind'st  mc  of  my  prime. 
When  I  would  go  across  the  fields 
In  the  eager  summer  time, 
To  court  thy  mother  at  her  wheel, 
Singing  an  eerie  rhyme. 

She  always  had  the  misty  look 
Of  things  unkenncd  and  far; 


1-; 


\HErTl*-il 


\'.:' 


92 


n.\(T(;,i  ,  I  ,^^    fjp    PAWN 


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And  always  fancies  in  her  head 

Of  princes,  rhymes,  and  war, 

And  how  the  Little  People  dance 
Around  the  evening  star. 

Midsummer  Eve  it  was.     I  mind 
There  was  a  smell  of  hloom; 
Out  of  the  dusk  a  little  wind 
Went  whispering  through  the  room; 
And  all  the  meadow  was  alive 
With  fireflies  in  the  gloom. 

Jeanne 

Father,  I  see  the  Figure  now. 
'lis  St.  Michael  with  his  sword, 
And  a  great  white  shield  on  his  arm. 
He  marches  to  award 
Her  rightful  victory  to  France, 
And  I  can  hear  his  word. 

Her  Father 

It  Is  the  great  shield  of  the  moon 
That  is  so  bright  and  round. 
It  is  the  mist  from  off  the  stream, 
That  moves  along  the  ground. 


\m 


DAUCHTFRS    OF    DAWN 


As  quiet  as  a  churchyanl  ^rhost 
That  never  makes   i  sound. 

Jkanxe 

And  there  is  McrWn  in  his  eloak 
Who  comes  to  counsel  me, 
That  since  a  wanton  ruined  France, 
A  maid  must  set  her  (rcc. 
'Jchan,  rejoice,  (iod's  holy  choice 
Has  fallen  on  Domremy!' 

IIi:K    I'ATIIKR 

'Tis  but  the  crooked  willow  hole. 

That  leans  across  the  brook. 

The  long  grey  moss  is  like  a  beard, 

He  has  an  ancient  look. 

I've  often  marked  him  leaning  there. 

Like  a  shepherd  on  his  crook. 

Jeaxxe 

Father,  T  sec  our  banners  pass; 
The  horses  strain  and  neigh; 
Our  men  at  arms  in  cavalcade. 
And  knights  in  war  array, 


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DAUGHTERS   OF   DA.VN 


And  kings  and  squires  with  commoners 
Are  hasting  to  the  fray. 

And  at  their  .    ud  in  whitest  mail, 
A  standard  in  her  hand, 
Whereon  the  Virgin  sits  enthroned 
And  fair  white  lilies  stand, 
Rides  thy  Jehan,  for  serving  man, 
To  free  her  luckless  land. 


'•!'. 


Rank  upon  rank  with  dust  and  clank 

The  fuming  chargers  go, 

Our  halberds  gleam,  our  pennons  stream, 

The  level  spears  arc  low. 

On  helm  ;  nd  lance  the  sunbeams  dance. 

I  would  I  need  not  go ! 


i 


ill 


Her  Father 

Ay,  ay!    Thy  mother  had  these  flights. 
I  mind  her  fancies  well. 
Sometimes  she'd  hear  a  cry  for  help, 
Times  an  alarum  bell. 
And  times  In  the  half-dusk  she'd  see 
Strange  sights  she  would  not  tell. 


■1»?'M>*^V  ^ 


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DAUOriTF-RS   OF    D WVX 


95 


I  mind  the  night  1  brought  licr  home 
J  hey  seemed  to  vex  her  sore. 
She  had  a  fey  look  on  her  face, 
When  I  led  her  through  the  door. 
But  when  the  good  God  sent  thee  down, 
Ghosts  troubled  her  no  more. 

When  thou  art  wed  and  far  this  place, 
'Twill  mend,  my  lass,  'twill  mend, — 
When  thou  hast  daughters  by  the  hand. 
And  a  man-f'hild  to  tend! 
For  God  him    If  sets  store  by  love. 
And  love  is  dieuming's  end. 


Je.anne 

Father,  you  do  not  understand. 

The  only  love  I  ask 

Is  Christ  and  L  ■  dear  Mother's  love, 

To  aid  me  in  my  task, 

And  send  the  French  swords  ringing  down 

Through  English  shield  and  casque. 

So  I  must  seek  my  lord  the  King, 
And  be  his  counsellor, — 
Tell  him  the  angel's  messages 


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DAunilTF.RS   OF    D AWN 


That  hid  him  forth  to  war. 

And  I  must  ride,  as  his  maiden  guide, 

Though  I  should  die  therefor. 

The  voices  of  the  ancient  wood 

I  lave  put  the  power  on  me. 

The  angels  summon  Jehan  d'Arc 

To  serve  God's  destiny. 

For  pity  on  the  realm  of  France.  .  .  . 

But  what  am  T  to  thee? 

///  this  the  old  mnn  rises  from  his  seat.    It  is 
his  only  sign  of  feeling  so  far. 

Her  Father 

How  should  a  maid  go  to  the  wars, 

With  rough-shod  men  to  ride? 

Be  there  no  captains  near  the  King, 

To  counsel  and  to  guide? 

Is  there  no  doubt  of  this  thy  call? 

Must  we  this  ill  abide? 

What  dost  thou  say?    What  art  to  me? 
My  own  lass !    God  thee  keep !  .  .  . 
Embracing  her,  he  turns  to  brush  away  tears. 


n.M-Ginr.Rs  or  d.wvx 


97 


It  is  the  mist  amoMj^  the  trees. 
Go  now  and  fold  thy  shccj) !  .   .  . 

lie  sits  ii.iuitUy. 
It  is  the  mist  upon  the  plain. 
I  am  weary  unto  sleep! 

His  head  sinks  forziard  on  his  hrcasl.  Ills 
hands  lie  Idle.  In  the  j\idnuj  dayllyht, 
Jeanne  stands  yaziny  Into  the  dusk. 

Curtain  and  Music 


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IX 

VITTOKIA  COLONNA 
1535  A.  D. 


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Micm  i,\\(;i.i,(> 
Two  Ladies 


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VITTORIA    COLON \ A 

pROIIK.l.'r. 

When  rash  Columbus  sriiknl  into  the  \\\st 
I  (»lIo\viii^  the  sun  h.  \«»ml  the  unknown  sim-. 
Ami    hcMchid    his    prows    upon    .1    lair    New 

WorKl. 
Another  reahn  wn';  rlslnj;  from  fii.-  deeps 
Of  troubled  faith  ami   rne«Iiaval  nii^ht. 

In  the  ^lad  niornin^  of  tlie  Renaissance, 
After  lo  <^  sleep,  the  holy  spirit  of  man 

\\V(tke  once  more  to  learI!in^^  freedom,  art. 
Out  ol  ilecrcpit  creeds  belief  arose 

I  o  seek  more  seemly  ;j;arments  iov  [!ie  soul. 

Erasmus,  Luther,  Raphael  and  the  rest. 
Would  build  a^ain  in  the  ^un  of  natural  ioy 
Ihe   House   of   Life   long   mouldering    in    t!ie 

shade. 
And  who  now  should  the  master  builder  be, 
But  the  fiery  seraph,  Michelangelo? 

Music 


102 


DAUGHTERS   OF   DAWN 


Chorus 

Who  stands  in  the  sun 
By  the  dark  cypress  wall, 
In  scarlet  and  dun, 
Where  the  autumn  leaves  fall, — 
In  a  halo  of  shining  hair,  like  a  missal  saint 
aureoled? 


J 


■, , 


i 


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T  •  I 


Is  she  empress  or  queen, 
With  that  confident  heart, 
And  her  robes'  silken  sheen 
As  they  flutter  and  part? 
What  wrong  would  not  right  in  her  presence? 
What  eye  could  its  homage  withhold? 

Her  rare  jewels  glance, 
Her  linked  girdle  slips, 
With  each  turn  of  the  dance 
To  flash  and  eclipse, 
As  she  moves  through  an  eloquent  measure, 
with  an  old  Latin  song  on  her  lips. 

Her  eyes  have  the  light 
Of  the  knowledge  of  truth. 


"^^m^^ 


DAUGHTERS  OF   DAWN 


103 


As  ancient  as  night, 
As  guileless  as  youth, 
And  glad  as  the  rose-lidded  morning  new-risen, 
yet  centuries  old. 

What  gift  could  Time  bring 
To  Learning's  Re-hirth, 
As  welcome  as  spring 
When  it  visits  the  earth? 
One   flower,   Vittoria   Colonna,   red   Illy  with 
deep  heart  of  gold! 

A  scchtdcd  part  of  the  gardens  of  the  Co- 
lonna Palace  in  Rome,  a  square  of  smooth 
green  turf  surrounded  hy  a  lull  dipped  express 
hedge.  There  is  a  flat  marble  beneh  at  the 
hack,  and  a  bushy  golden-lipped  cedar,  about 
three  feet  high,  in  each  corner  of  the  enclosure. 
There  is  only  one  entrance  through  the  hedge, 
at  the  left,  guarded  on  either  side  by  txio  ter- 
mini, antique  marble  posts  ziith  sculptured 
heads,  a  Pan  on  the  left,  a  Hermes  on  the 
right.  As  the  curtain  rises  Vittoria  Coi.oxna 
is  discovered,  moving  through  a  slovo  ballade, 
and  singing  a  Medi<rval  Latin  student  song  as 
an  accompaniment.     Tko  companions,  or  scrv- 


.'liJc^^ 


Mii 


»t 


I 


I!    I 


iPiiMi 


104 


DAUGurr.RS  OF  n.wvx 


///</  liomcn,  stand  by,  an  apprccialivc  audience 
of  her  performance. 

SoxG 

When  the  pear  tree  comes  in  flower, 
Cold  and  grief  are  gone  away, 
Love  and  gladness  have  their  hour. 
Jmor  v'lncit  omnia! 

When  the  leaves  begin  to  fall, 
Youth  and  spring  have  had  their  day, 
Why  should  lovers  fear  at  all? 
Amor  vincit  omnia/ 

As  she  begins  the  second  stanza,  a  man's 
voice  is  heard  outside  joining  in  the  song.  The 
ivomen  smile,  as  if  not  surprised,  and  presently 
there  enters  one  idio  is  evidently  a  zcehome 
and  accustomed  guest  of  the  house.  It  is 
Mlc'iiKLANGELO.  As  hc  comes  in,  ziithout  in- 
terrupting the  dance,  he  S7niles  and  bozvs  in 
courteous  nunk-stilted  salutation,  and  takes  his 
stand  by  the  Hermes  until  the  stanza  is  fin- 
ished. Then  he  advances,  and  as  he  takes  ViT- 
TORIA  Colonna's  hand,  leads  her  to  the  bencii. 


mmmm 


mmmmmmmmmmsmmmm 


mrmmmm 


i)\i(;ni  [Ks  OF  irwvN' 


lOi 


She  sits  at  one  end  of  the  seat,  idiile  he  remains 
standing  near  the  other.  The  i^aitimj  ziomen 
retire.  It  is  afternoon  of  a  warm,  still  day  in 
autumn. 


VlTTORIA  COLONNA 

Did  they  dance  such  things  in  Florence, 

In  that  Mediccan  garden, 

Where  magnificent  Lorenzo 

Crowned  your  toil  with  praise  or  pardon? 

When  that  young  faun's  head  you  fashioned 

Was  his  voice  enough  to  fire  you? 

Were  thtrt  not  within  the  cloister 

Other  accents  to  inspire  you? 


a 


Buonarroti,  how  this  New  Life, 

Just  as  every  hope  seemed  ended, 

Breaking  on  us  like  a  vision. 

Makes  the  old  more  rich  and  splendid! — 

As,  how  oftei.  ..L  the  casement 

I  have  watched  through  storm  and  thunder. 

Till  at  last  the  sudden  rain  ceased 

And  the  sun  showed  Rome  in  wonder! 


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PAUGIITERS  OF   DAWN 


II 


So  when  all  our  age  seemed  darkest, 
Faith  extinguished,  culture  perished. 
Comes  a  Renaissance  of  Knowledge, 
Freeing  all  the  dreams  wc  cherished. 
All  the  lore  of  buried  Hellas 
Brought  to  light  for  our  illuming! 
On  old  altars  reared  to  Beauty 
Burn  once  more  the  fires  consuming! 

Who  can  walk  unmoved  through  Florence, 
W;  .re  each  corner  shows  a  palace? 
Wl      but  must  learn  adoration 
From  the  chasing  on  the  chalice? 
Who  could  meanly  live,  with  Dante 
Ringing  through  his  soul's  dim  portals? 
Or  be  sad  where  Lippo  Lippi 
Paints  the  teeming  life  of  mortals. 

What  if  here,  as  once  in  Athens, 
Women  now  should  lift  the  story 
Of  our  race  from  prose  to  epic, 
With  new  freedom,  grace,  and  glory! 
We  should  walk  the  world  like  morning 
On  the  hill-tops  dark  and  olden, 
When  the  sombre  peaks  of  purple 
Glow  transfigured  fresh  and  golden; 


Vj....|/^L^.  1   1  ig 


n.MCIITI-RS   OF   DAWN 


107 


Sane  and  lofty  as  Athene, 

Yet  with  huighter,  tire,  and  daring; 

And  deep-bosomed  as  Demeter 

When  she  had  the  earth  in  raring. 

So  shall  time's  victorious  children 

Reach  the  height  and  pass  the  portal 

Of  that  majesty  of  oeauty 

Thou  hast  imaged — more  than  mortal. 

All  t!iy  life  long,  Michelangel, 
Thou  hast  fought  the  dull  and  downward,- 
Followed  only  where  truth  pointed. 
While  the  many  trailed  rcnownward. 
Where  great  arches  lift  to  heaven 
The  dumb  heart  of  the  observer, 
Caught  in  color,  pressed  in  marble, 
Live  thy  dreams,  thy  faith,  thy  fervor. 

All  that  thou  hast  wrought  of  beauty. 
Framed  or  fashioned,  in  the  hour 
Of  God's  counsel,  stands  forever 
To  uplift  this  world  with  power. 
Strong  old  prophets,  wise  young  princes, 
Moses,  David,  dear  Madonna, 
All  in  thy  great  heart  have  portion. 
What  am  I  to  thee? 


<-«'jt 


io8 


DAUr.HTKRS   OK    HAWX 


II 


H 


il 


MiClItLANGELO 

Colonnal 
Never  that  note  of  despairing  sadness, 
Of  human  tears  and  sublime  regret! 
Keep  ever  thy  voice  of  seraph's  gladness, 
Lest  time  should  lose  and  the  world  forget 
'Ihe  image  of  joy  no  man  can  measure, — 
Transcending  nature,  surpassing  art, — 
The  eternal  dream,  the  immortal  treasure, 
The  flower  that  blows  in  a  woman's  heart ! 


■t; 


'J 


IV. 


it^ 


II 


Here  stand  we,  while  the  great  sky  arches 

Blue  over  Rome,  triumphal,  sheer; 

And     Autumn     with    banner    and    vestment 

marches 
In  festal  pomp  for  the  dying  year. 
What  is  this  earth  but  a  minster  old 
Ti.e  wind  like  a  crowding  organ  fills. 
Where  the  sun  swings  up  like  a  censer  of  gold 
Before  the  high  altar  of  the  hills?     .     .     . 

Suppose  from  out  of  the  world  somewhere 
Into  a  great  dim  church  should  stray 
An  untaught  urchin,  unaware 


BK8-"«BSBrTB? 


n.\r<;iM  IKS  or-  nwvx 


109 


Whose  house  it  is,  what  it  means  to  pray; 
He  wanders  on  where  the  soarinjr  nave 
Goes  up  ami  up,  ami  the  soft  h^^ht  falls, 
Where  faded  colors  are  inarshalleil  brave, 
Row  on  row  o'er  the  choir  stalls. 

The  marble  knights  that  sleep  so  still, 
The  saints  that  stand  in  their  carven  screen. 
The  gargoyles  each  with  a  different  thrill, — 
What  do  the  manifold  marvels  mean? 
And  ever  as  the  wonder  grows. 
Assurance  and  daring  begin  to  fail, 
Until  where  the  great  east  window  glows, 
He  halts  abashed  by  the  chancel  rail. 


I 


And  there  before  the  altar  stands, 
To  steady  the  faint  heart's  come-and-go, 
An  angel  with  lily-laden  hands, 
Smiling  down  on  the  boy  below. 
I  was  that  venturesome  child,  and  thou — 
W^ho  buL  the  angel  great  and  fair, 
W^ith  the  all-seeing  eyes,  the  unanxious  brow, 
The   curved   sweet   mouth,    and   the   luminous 
hair! 


Sffi^^SS...!,   ■    A'-.JlSii'i 


<mm 


f-'^m:  •  M*  rmii^m^-^^itsxjvf-:'* 


11   : 


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if; 

III 
If 

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nATTGIITF.RS  OF   DAWN' 


As  all  of  a  sudden  the  worKl  will  ^\o\v 
In  the  first  brij^ht  single  shaft  of  dawn, 
Or  the  wonder  of  a  painting  grow 
When  the  scaffold  is  down  and  the  screen  with- 
drawn, 
I  caught  at  last  the  soul  of  design. 
The  might  of  color,  the  reason  of  form, 
The  magic  of  rhythm  and  melting  line, 
When  you  moved  like  music  alive  and  warm. 

T  saw  where  enchanted  Beauty  slept. 
Like  the  Fairy  Princess,  in  color  and  stone, 
Till  forth  at  the  prayer  of  my  hand  she  leapt 
Into  a  kingdom  long  her  own. 
Onward  I  blundered,  with  heart  uplift, 
To  prove, — the  only  faith  I  knew, — 
That  mould  of  body  reveals  soul's  drift. 
I  dreamed  ...j  uieams,  and  lo,  they  ure  true! 

Therefore,  I  say,  regret  no  morel 

Shall   the   strong  man  grieve   for  his   callow 

prime. 
When  autumn  and  triumph  are  at  the  door, 
And  labor  and  love  are  lords  of  time? 


DAUGirn.RS   OF    n\WN' 


1 1 1 


Thou  art  the  April  of  An^clo, — 

Thine  iintaniishcil  siiiiks,  thy  generous  tears! 

What  does  the  lieavenly  lihic  know 

Of  the  fallinjj;  leaves  and  the  flyin<f  years? 

This  evergreen  with  golden  tiji! 
He  that  our  cmhleni  treasured  fast, 
As  if  to  remind  us,  finger  on  lip, 
Kndure  and  essay!      Truth  wins  at  last! 
When  the  earth  is  juilgcd  of  good  and  ill, 
And  men  at  the  Mercy  Seat  shall  stand, 
As  I  love  you  now,  I  shall  love  vou  still. 
Great  heart,  in  homage  I  kiss  your  hand! 

Js  lie  hends  over  one  hand,  VlTTORi  \  Co- 
LOXNA  lays  the  other,  half  playfully,  half  affec- 
tionately, on  his  head,  and,  as  he  rises,  leads 
him  through  a  figure  of  her  ballade,  'njhile  they 
sing  together  a  final  stanza  of  her  song. 

SoxG 

Let  the  winter  come  with  snow. 
Iron  ground  and  skies  of  grey, — 
What  to  high  hearts,  whether  or  no? 
Amor  vincit  omnia! 


w 


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II 


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il  '  'I 


I  12 


DATTGirrr-Rs  of  dawn 


frith  the  coticluding  passage  of  the  dance, 
they  go  out  through  the  high  hedge  hand  in 
hand,  and  the  singing  fades  in  the  dist:'nce. 


Curtain  and  Music 


1 


■  Ji.,^:^ 


*mi-%,.  K  -l.ai.     '.,l.^^.,.^.^iti.J.A...... 


EPILOGUE 


AND 

CLOSING   CHORUS 


l;( 
ii 


1  ' 


PERSONS  IN  THE   EPILOGUE  AND  CLOSING 
ClIOKUS 

Time 

A    Poet 

Modern   Woman 


i 


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PArcii  1 1  k*;  or  PAWN' 


ii<; 


i:i'ii,o(.i'r: 

Vc  have  hchcKl  in  art's  tiMiispoiiinp;  glass 
Sonic  portion  of  the  pajfcanuy  "f  lime 
Moving  across  i  .c  vast  static  of  the  worlJ, 
Ami  riKirkcd  in  power  ami  in  b.auty  there 
Woiulrous  earth  womci!  with  the  j^ift  of  lil.' 

Indomitable  chiKlren  of  tlie  liirjit, 
Impassioned  with  iii^:'    thenu  .  of  t  liless      )od, 
They  bore  the  subtle  and  iminort   1  ho^  c. — 
The    magic    seed   that    should    transmute    th  s 

earth 
Into  a  paradise  where  gods  might  dwell. 

Look  forth  upon  tiic  modern  world  and  see 
The  same  great  beiri;  passionate  and  fair, 
Charged  with  her  m  \'St!C  wisdtun  as  of  old, 
Still  championing    he  sorcery  of  love 
And  the  ecstatic  progress  of  the  Soul! 


Miiiic 


■I'- 


ii6 


DAUGHTERS   OF    PAWM 


-.1  » 


^'! 


V 


If  11 


is: 


Js  the  curtain  rises  for  the  closintj  chorus 
Modern  Womax  is  seen  standing  in  the 
foreground,  luith  a  shadoziy  multitude  be- 
hind her,  in  which  the  figures  of  ViTTORlA 
CoLONNA,  Jeanne  d'Arc,  Zenobia,  Mary, 
IzEYL,  Sappho,  Balkis,  Deborah,  and  Eve 
can  be  distinguished. 

CLOSING    CHORUS 

Who  is  here  through  the  hush 
Of  the  infinite  past, 
With  the  confident  gush 
Of  spring  come  at  last, 
As  youth  must  arise  from  all  sorrow  to  share 
in  the  triumph  of  earth? 

In  her  hair  the  gold  light 
Of  the  sun  when  day  dies, 
And  the  violet  night 
In  her  dusk-lidded  eyes. 
With  the  freshness  of  dew  in  her  bearing,  and 
morn  in  her  stature  and  girth! 

Her  throat  is  unlaced, 
Her  foot  is  soft-shod; 


m 


DAUGHTKRS   OF    DAWN 


117 


She  is  glad  and  free-paced 
As  the  creatures  of  God; 
Her  way  is  the  path  to  perfection  her  sisters 
of  morning  have  trod. 

With  the  ardor  of  Eve 
xVnd  Zenobia's  pride, 
She  is  quick  to  believe, 
With  soul  for  her  guide; 
She  could  go  forth  with  Barak  to  battle,  or 
grace  Julian's  corselet  of  mail. 

Was  Sappho  more  tender, 
Colonna  more  wise? 
Does  Mary  not  lend  her 
Great  motherhood's  guise? 
She  is  soft  with  the  beauty  of  Balkis,  sublime 
with  the  love  of  Izeyl. 

With  solace  and  fire. 
With  dawn  in  her  voice. 
She  lives  to  Inspire, 
Companion,  rejoice, — 
A  presence   of   radiant  devotion,   a   spirit  of 
luminous  choice. 


■Mj,.-  i-w^i  aesxaxti^'wr^L  » > 


H 


4 


1 


ii 


'ir 


ii8 


DArCIITF.RS   OF   DAWN 


Have  ye  felt  the  heart  quail 
And  uplift  and  hold  fast, 
At  the  swell  of  the  sail 
As  it  pulls  on  the  mast? 
Even  so  must  the  sway  of  her  being  empower 
the  world  to  the  last. 


ii 

III  !■ 


Curtain  and  Music 


<  I 


!  ; 


( 

s 


*a»T>E«LT«*;:<Hs;?i-  1  r  -'aaat 


